Dinner with the Inquisition
by Ro Kyle Carlyle
Summary: Rogue Trader Jak Velasquez and his companions are invited to dine with three powerful and disparate Inquisitors, Fyodor Karamazov, Amberley Vail and Yrobael Tzuma. But in the background an assassin lurks, one who is intent on this dinner ending in slaughter. Will Jak identify the killer in time to save the day, if not the dinner?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I don't like stories that need to be read with a whole lot of preamble and introduction, and this isn't one of them, so feel free to skip these acknowledgements entirely and get straight to the story. However, there are a few sources that I think it's important to acknowledge prior to telling this story. Firstly, and most obviously, all parts of the Warhammer 40K Universe and its characters are owned by Games Workshop. That said, this story does feature the dread scourge of original characters, most prominently the Rogue Trader Jak Velasquez and his trusted tech priest companion Maternin Shyendi. If you're at all interested in the two of them, their continuing adventures can be found in my long form story The Very Devil of the Stars._

 _This tale also features two individuals who represent opposite ends of the reasonability spectrum when it comes to the Inquisition, Fyodor Karamazov and Amberley Vail. To the best of my knowledge, Karamazov first appeared in the Witch Hunters Codex and has since come to stand for every aspect of the Inquisition that is based on the history of the Spanish Inquisition and historical witch-hunt practices in general. Vail is a recurring character in Sandy Mitchell's excellent Ciaphas Cain stories, representing not only a more circumspect application of Inquisitorial authority, but also the more secret service-y 'James Bond with a plasma gun' side of the Inquisition._

 _I may have my continuity wrong, but as far as I can work out, this story takes place shortly after Karamazov was presented with the Throne of Judgement for his role in the Abraxan purges, shortly before Vail travelled to the Damocles Gulf and met Cain for the first time, and approximately ten years into Jak's career, after his first attempt at exploring the Ghoul Stars ended in failure._

 _Finally, I want to thank Toraach, whose reviews and commentary first inspired this story, although he probably would have preferred it if Karamazov never turned up._

 **=][=**

 **=][=**

 **=][=**

 **Dinner with the Inquisition**

 **Part 1**

"Tell me everything you know about Jakobian Velasquez," said the Inquisitor.

The servitor blinked, an unconscious gestured retained despite its lobotomised state as an indicator of cogitative processing. "Lord-Captain Jakobian Velasquez, Rogue Trader, master of the _Jackdaw,_ granted the Warrant of Trade by Lord-Sector Calixis, Marius Hax, in the year-

"Tell me everything you recall about your service with Jakobian Velasquez," the Inquisitor interrupted.

"This unit served aboard the _Jackdaw_ as a mono-tasked waste reclaimant servitor for thirteen shipboard months. This unit was sold out of service this morning to-

"Tell me your destination logs during your months of service aboard the _Jackdaw_."

"All service logs were memory-wiped prior to sale. No recollections of specific activities aboard the Jackdaw remain. This unit served aboard the _Jackdaw_ as a mono-tasked waste reclaimant servitor for thirteen shipboard months." The Inquisitor's tongue clicked in irritation.

"Will that be all?" The Servitor inquired, in tones of dull civility. The Inquisitor hesitated but a moment, then stepped forward, hand raised. In one hand, a metal canister, wired with electronics. In the other, a scalpel, edge gleaming in the low light.

"No," said the Inquisitor. "There will be one other requirement."

 **=][=**

 _Some hours earlier on…_

Cypra Mundi!

A world where every day a million cultures mingled, ten million ships berthed and a hundred million deals were done, from opulent emporiums to shadowy back alleys. A naval forge world, where the best and brightest of the Imperial Navy rubbed shoulders with the celebrated shipcasters of the Adeptus Mechanicus, those priests of the Machine God tasked with the sacred duty of building, repairing and restoring the bastion fleets of Battlefleet Obscurus.

As naval and military headquarters for the entire Segmentum, Cypra Mundi was first and foremost a shipbuilding world. In fact, the entire system was devoted to the work of the Imperial Navy, from the shipbreaker rings of the outer reaches, where scavenger barges trawled the derelicts for valuable scrap-tech, to the secret moons of Kriti Mundi, where the Fabricator Admirals worked on the latest improvements to their ancient warships, all the way to the Ravenburg shrines on the capitol world, a place of holy pilgrimage for young naval cadets.

For Jak Velasquez, a man who had been born in the void and raised by the navy, you could not come closer to a planet that felt like home.

Jak stood on the highest floor of a great spire, overlooking the turbulent, seething city below. Like many hive worlds and all naval vessels, the city-state of Cypra Astu organised its hierarchy vertically, and wealth always floated to the top. At ground level, the stranglers' markets jostled with the fungi co-ops, hanging on desperately for survival amidst the mud and toxic crust of the hive foundations. Higher up, the air hung thick with smog and the hypnotic gases of the Omni-malls that kept the middle classes so effectively in thrall. And at the apex of the towering superstructure, amidst the silver spires and clear skies, sat the Golden Emporiums, the great merchant halls where anything and everything under the sun could be purchased for those with enough wealth.

The Emporium De Astrata was less a market-place and more a lavishly appointed meeting hall. Open, airy and well-lit, the hall was broken up into dozens of ringed booths, where buyers and sellers could sit in comfort, their conversations kept private by confounder domes and their Epicurean requirements seen to by golden robed servants.

Jak stood at one edge of the hall, eyeing the crowd. It was the usual motley arrangement of wealthy nobility, chartist captains, military officers and the occasional figure whose air of mystery and refinement was a little harder to identity. Jak scratched his beard thoughtfully. There would be no guesswork involved in picking out his career; everything from his outfit –his doublet in red and gold velvet, brass omniscope and archaeotech chronometer hanging from gold chains-, to the way he carried himself –leaning casually but with his sword hand always free, a brace of pistols across his chest- to the scars he displayed openly –none more prominent than the one that ran down his right cheek from beneath a velvet eyepatch- screamed Rogue Trader.

Still, he was not here to see and be seen by the planet's big spenders. He was looking for one man in particular. And he had found him. The short, waddling merchant prince wore a purple cape and forked goatee, and covered himself in jewellery from a dozen different worlds. He oozed wealth and privilege, and just oozed in general really.

"De Astrata," Jak growled.

A hand reached up and touched Jak's shoulder. He looked down at Maternin Shyendi, priestess of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The petite but formidable woman was an Archmagos, and bore the title _Technis Majoris_ within House Velasquez, Jak's senior adviser on all things mechanical and many things that weren't. Unlike many of the cult Mechanicus, machine-touched worshippers of the Omnissiah, her visage remained mostly human, pale skinned and delicate. Only the steel grey of her eyes, the sensorium of twitching silver mono-tendrils that cascaded from her scalp in place of hair, and the three slender mecha-dendrites that coiled and swayed like poised cobras behind her back marked her out as a tech priest.

"Mind your temper," Maternin warned him. He recognised the look of concern on her face. He shrugged her hand away, but gently.

"Aye," he said, striding towards De Astrata. "I'll mind it."

 **=][=**

Maternin watched with dismay as her Captain, and friend she liked to think, strode across the room. He was in a poor mood, with reason.

They had returned to Cypra Mundi far earlier than intended. Jak had used the forge world as a staging post for his planned voyage into the Ghoul Stars, a desolate cluster of mysterious stars that clung to the north-eastern frontier of the Ultimate Segmentum. For millennia, they had eluded any attempt to probe their deeply hidden mysteries. Many expeditions had departed into the Ghoul Stars' depths, but none had returned.

Jak had intended to be the first.

Cypra Mundi was a strange choice of staging post. Maternin had argued strongly for the use of Orask, a sentinel world at the edge of the Ghoul Stars, a far more convenient location to base an expeditionary fleet. But Jak had known many merchants on Cypra Mundi who had offered him favourable prices to outfit his expedition. One of those merchants had been Tobias De Astra.

Maternin followed along in Jak's wake, her short legs having to move quickly to match his long stride. De Astrata seemed to recognise Jak from a distance, and certainly recognised the look on Jak's face. His face went from corpulent charm to waxy terror in a second.

"De Astrata, old chum!" Jak bellowed across the hall. "How are you?"

De Astrata was a small man, born on some low gravity world, and his weight, height and manner of dress put Maternin in mind of nothing so much as a velveteen bauble. He stammered and tugged at his forked goatee as Jak approach.

"My dear Lord-Captain Velasquez," a smile appeared on De Astrata's face, false and fleeting as a desert mirage. "I had not expected to see you again in my fine emporium so soon!

The Velasquez expedition had not even made it to the edge of the Ghoul Stars. Merely weeks into the voyage hundreds of sailors had become sick, nutrient blocks had spoiled and vital equipment had turned out to be barely operational. Facing disaster, Jak had chosen not to risk his crew's lives any further. The expedition ended quickly and ignobly and Jak had returned to Cypra Mundi to charge De Astra with selling him tainted goods.

Jak picked the Emporium owner up by the collar of his cloak, lifted the squeaking man clear off the ground. "I'm back, De Astrata," he growled. "No thanks to your fine Emporium."

Behind him, Maternin's mechas twitched, as a half-dozen augmented goons suddenly melted out of the crowd as if from nowhere and encircled them, auto-cannons cocked.

"Oh dear. I may have told a little lie, young Jak. I _was_ expecting you actually." Silence had gathered over the emporium. Every merchant, trader, buyer and attendant had turned to watch. "What's say you put me down? I'd hate to be washing your blood off the carpets, and no one here will want to do business with a man who can't keep his temper."

Jak lowered the merchant slowly to the ground. "You tried to fleece me, De Astra! We were on starvation rations for a month!"

De Astra adjusted his rumpled clothes fastidiously. "I'll accept my apology now." When none was forthcoming, he gestured to his goons to lower their weapons and fixed Jak with a nasty stare. "You should think carefully before throwing around rash accusations. I'm not responsible for the poor care you provide to your crews."

"All your provisions were tainted," Jak hissed. "You gave me your personal guarantee of quality." He leaned in close. One of De Astrata's golden robed attendants had rushed over to place a confounder dome over their conversation. "People died. You'll pay for those lives," Jak said.

"Threats, Velasquez?" De Astrata bristled. "Just where do you think you are? This is not the Cypra Mundi you left behind three months ago. Look out the sky door and smell the smoke. There's a new power on this planet, and you had better learn to mind your manners and know your place. You come into _my_ Emporium and threaten _me_? You clearly don't know just who you're dealing with now."

De Astrata fixed his stare on Maternin. "I would advise you to keep your captain on a shorter leash, priestess. I find the Adeptus Mechanicus are always much more rational in their decision making than young Rogue Traders can be. Make sure he understands what his mistakes may cost him." And with that, he walked away.

 **=][=**

"Look out the sky door and smell the smoke."

The sky door was a wide platform that jutted out into the open air from the hall itself, like a balcony with no railings. The golden emporiums were nothing if not libertarian endeavours; if a man could afford to enjoy the open air he should be allowed to, and if he chose to stand too close to the edge and an accident befell him, well what self-respecting tradesman would waste valuable coin trying to prevent a man from making his own mistakes?

Jak stalked out into the open air, and stood at the very edge of the platform, over the dizzying fall. He and breathed deep of the –relatively- pure air, trying to calm himself. Cypra Mundi provided a poor facsimile of clean air, like most forge worlds it was so full of toxic smogs and shipboard runoff that the blue skies were only achieved by use of ancient climate engines, only available to the richest of districts. But, so used to the stale, recycled atmosphere of void ships was Jak that he found the air on Cypra Mundi heady, even addictive. He liked nothing better than to stand here, on the edge of a mighty drop, and fill his lungs fit to bursting.

He took a deep breath and said, somewhat apologetically, "I forgot to mind my temper."

"Indeed," Maternin murmured. She pointed down, at least twenty levels, to where black smoke rose from a crowd arrayed along one of Cypra Astu's many skyway processionals. "And it appears that we forgot to smell the smoke."

The magnocular device in Jak's eyepatch (itself a technical marvel that provided him with far better vision than his own eye ever had) focused on the Inquisitional parade that was taking place below. Through it, he took in the details of the parade, the flagellating penitents, the chanting priests, the torch bearing sisters, all marching in disorganised rows. Above them sharp-faced cherubs darted about amongst low-hanging zeppelins, which carried underslung vox-casters, blasting the sounds of prayer above the noise of Cypra Mundian traffic.

Not that there was much traffic. The city had all but ground to a half to watch the Lord Inquisitor parade his latest captures.

The centrepieces of the procession were fifty Inquisitional crucifixes, thrice-bisected Is, held high on wooden posts, carried by augmented servitors. It was these crucifixes that were producing the greasy black promethium smoke that Jak could smell. Heretics were tied to each one, their bodies writhing silhouettes amongst the flames that consumed them.

"The third procession this week," said Maternin softly. "Over a thousand heretics executed in a single month."

"Funny how easy it becomes to find heretics everywhere when sneezing too loudly becomes a crime against the Emperor." Jak said. Both of them, with their augmented vision, were looking at the figure bringing up the rear of the parade.

He sat on one of the oddest war machines Jak had ever seen: a heavy bipedal chassis, it walked with the slow, rolling gait of an Astartes dreadnought but was topped with an ornate throne. Three figures occupied the throne: a servitor at one arm wielded a multi-melta, and a scribe at the other arm was holding on grimly and looking somewhat sickened by the swaying steps of the ponderous vehicle. But it was the man in the centre who drew the eye. Visibly old, none of the vanity of rejuvenat treatments here, his hawk-eyed gaze fixed on some unknown horizon, as if the crowds and pageantry meant nothing to him.

Even from this distance Jak could hear the pandemonium of the processional, the screams of heretics almost drowned out by the chanting of the true believers. The Lord Inquisitor seemed to ignore them both.

Fyodor Karamazov, scourge of Ultima Macharia, Bakka and Abraxam. 'The Burning Judge', folk called him, although never in earshot. He had been on Cypra Mundi for only a month, and already he had brought the world to its knees.

"He is a formidable figure," Maternin said. "Perhaps with one such as that it is wisest to spend as little time in their vicinity as possible. And to carry a handkerchief."

Jak grinned. Had that been a joke? Maternin Shyendi had always been too serious for his liking, but perhaps their years of friendship was finally having a positive effect on her.

"I plan to have no dealings with Karamazov, rest assured. But De Astrata clearly believes that he is protected by the Lord Inquisitor's presence on the planet. I wouldn't trust that lickspittle not to have started toadying up as soon as the first crucifix was lit."

"Ignore the Inquisitor," came a voice at Jak's other side, a voice twisted with age. "It is his audience you should be watching."

Jak glanced down, but the woman to his left was following her own advice and watching the crowd. Her expression was almost eager, in fact, despite that she lacked the augmented eyesight of Jak or Maternin. She made up for it with her own second sight. The little woman –Jak was a tall man, certainly, but his two petite advisors made him look positively gigantic- all but disappeared into robes of deep ocean hues, cinched over the armoured collar and breastplate of the _Navis Nobilite_. The only word that could be used to describe her was ancient, and even that did not do her justice. She looked fossilized, a shrivelled, tiny relic of a woman, her nut-brown skin hardened to such wrinkled leather as to make her almost unrecognisable as human, let alone living. Yet, for all this, she radiated a strength like few other people Jak had ever met. Sirenna E'Al'Xandros, his Chief Navigator and trusted confidant, if not precisely a friend. She turned her milky white eyes to him expectantly.

Rather than question what she'd meant, Jak followed her advice. He looked to the audience watching the processional.

The crowd was a disparate lot, seemingly drawn from every level of the hive and watching the priests and flagellants and burning bodies with an almost feral intensity. Some cheered, a few raised their voices in prayer but most remained silent. But the look on their eyes; Jak struggled to put a word to it.

"They look hungry," he said at last.

"Hungry for salvation, perhaps. They think they know what awaits them beyond the void. They watch the parade knowing that they'd sacrifice their own mothers to the crucifix if it might protect them from their fate."

Jak pondered that in silence. He could not say that his Navigator was wrong.

"A lesson well worth learning," Sirenna said. "The throne is a poor joke, a mockery of the Inquisitor Lord's true power. He is nothing without the masses who hope, desperately hope, that he will be their salvation."

"And who know that tomorrow, if they raise their voice, it might be them on the crucifix," added Maternin. Sirenna looked at her sharply, but she nodded in agreement with the sentiment.

"It is the mob that allows his work to be done, the mob who ensures that even the planet's government is helpless to interfere with the purge."

 **=][=**

Maternin shuddered and turned away from the awful display of Inquisitorial power. The three companions walked inside, again, met at the entrance of the hall by the fourth member of their party, Tahrir Venturianis, seneschal extraordinaire, High Factotum and Master of Whispers for House Velasquez. The slender, stern-faced young man bowed when he saw his Master, but there was little deference in his tone.

"That seemed an unnecessary display."

They were still surrounded by hundreds of powerful men and women, nobility and military, sailors and merchants, all of whom had seen Jak's temper explode at Tobias De Astrata. Jak gave a satisfied smirk at his seneschal's displeasure. "Very necessary, Tahrir. I needed to blow off some steam. And now we know that De Astrata believes himself in bed with Lord-Inquisitor Karamazov. A fact that I would have known in advance if we had any half-decent informers on this planet."

Still bowed, the seneschal gave a small movement of his shoulders that could have been a shrug. "A good spy network grows from seeds, my Lord, and their planting is not cheap. With time and funds, ours will bloom. Until then, we survive on such titbits as we can gleam through my travails in dens of ostentatious iniquity such as this."

"Titbits? Such as?"

Tahrir rose to his full height again. Despite his youth, he had sloped look about him, a hunch on his back and a shuffle in his gait, seemed to give him age beyond his years, and the conical hat he wore detracted rather than added to his dignity. "Such as the fact that Tobias De Astrata has a private sky-palace that he has lent out to a group of visiting Inquisitors, including none other than Fyodor Karamazov." He paused. "Admittedly that information would have been more useful had I brought it to you ten minutes earlier. Thus, why patience has its advantages."

"So does picking people up and shaking them until they tell me things that I want to know," Jak said.

"In the likely event that this philosophical point of difference between us will find no resolution through disputation, may I turn your attention to more profitable matters?" At Jak's nod, he continued. "I have met a dealer who has a most intriguing proposition to put to you. One that requires no risk, or even exertion on our part, just parting with a small amount of merchandise at great profit."

Maternin followed silently, as Tahrir led Jak to a private booth. Sirenna seemed to have wandered off on her own explorations of the hall, and whilst Maternin would have liked to have done the same -she had scanned the hall upon entry with her sensorium, and picked up a number of fascinating Noospheric signals that hinted at intriguing devices secreted about the place- she was reluctant to leave Jak's side at this time. His choler was up, and she did not trust De Astrata not to provoke the captain again.

Tahrir's buyer was waiting for them at one of the booths, a semi-circle of low, cushioned seating topped with a confounder dome. He was a tall, handsome man, possessing a gentle smile that showed perfectly white teeth and a demeanour of supreme confidence. The latter was somewhat enhanced by the ornate suit of white and silver power armour that he wore. No one but the most elite of the Empire's protectors could afford to wear a suit of such magnificence.

Maternin was entranced by it. She, like all priestesses and priests of the Omnissiah, knew archaeotech by sight, and she could pick out the delicate servo-structure of the joints, the intricate rune-work of the wardings, the impenetrable strength of the plating, all the details that classed this as a masterwork. Whoever this man was, he was evidently extremely powerful.

The man stood –armour humming quietly as he moved- and raised both arms out in welcome. "Lord-Captain Velasquez! It is an honour and a pleasure. Allow me to introduce myself. Yrobael Instillius Ahktenartrum Tzuma, Inquisitor of the Holy Orders of His Imperial Inquisition."

Maternin could see, in his right hand, the Inquisitor holding out a rosette, his symbol of office and proof of his rank. It was a masterwork in its own way, a small ornate pin, worked in emerald and gold. On it, the Inquisitorial cross (a thrice bisected I) ended in a sharp point and was topped by a grinning, silver skull. Such designs held meaning only to those initiated into the Holy Orders, but even for one not so initiated, the encryption identification signals that the rosette gave out into the noosphere left no doubt of the Inquisitor's rank. Only someone with a death wish would attempt to forge an Inquisitorial ID.

Jak simply smiled at the rosette, and took the Inquisitor's free hand in his own. "The pleasure is all mine, Inquisitor Tzuma, my seneschal assures me."

The Inquisitor smiled again, that great beaming smile, and gestured to his left. Jak joined him in sitting; Tahrir and Maternin remained standing.

"I am in the market for servitors, Lord-Captain," explained Inquisitor Tzuma. "Servitors of a very specific nature. Your seneschal tells me that you can help me."

"Well, we have three thousand servitors aboard the _Jackdaw_ , secundus grade wetware, mono-tasked and multi-tasked to specialist voidwork. But I don't know how many fit the 'very specific nature' that you're referring to."

"These servitors were with you when you skirted the Screaming Vortex am I correct?"

Jak quirked an eyebrow at the question, but the fixed smile on the Inquisitor's face did not slip even an inch. "Aye, that they were. Most of them anyway. But that's neither here nor there."

"Perhaps to most," the Tzuma said, his voice soothing and resonant, "but that is precisely the reason that I am interested in them. I will take two dozen. Here is my offer of purchase." He passed over a dataslate. Jak took a single look at it and didn't hide his surprise. He passed the slate to Tahrir. The seneschal did a better job of covering his reaction.

"I admit Lord Tzuma, I'm intrigued. Why so much for two dozen servitors?"

The Inquisitor smiled complacently. "Does it matter? It's all profit to you."

Jak leaned back in his seat, studying the smiling Inquisitor. "Perhaps that's true," he admitted, "but I find myself in no mood to do business with the Inquisition today."

Maternin found herself biting her lip, watching the palpable tension between the two men. Neither Inquisitor nor Rogue Trader was used to being denied. And she had seen Jak in this kind of mood before; it was a killing mood.

 **=][=**

Jak found his fist clenching in his lap as he examined the Inquisitor. The smile never left Tzuma's face.

"You find yourself in no mood to make money, Lord-Captain? I have to admit, that's the first time I've heard a Rogue Trader make that mistake."

"Well, I could be off my game," Jak conceded. "All the promethium in the air has given me a headache."

For a moment, Tzuma's smile flickered and Jak saw a glimpse of the man beneath. "You refer to the purge of heretics I take it? You may have heard that I am lodging with Lord-Inquisitor Karamazov. Let me tell you that I am here on Cypra Mundi on my own business. In fact, I advised strongly against the purge."

"I'm sure that was of great solace to those poor sods strung up on those crucifixes out there."

"They were found to be heretics, Rogue Trader, by an ordained member of the Imperial Inquisition, as is his holy right and sacred duty. A duty carried out in the name of the God Emperor."

"And parading the bodies through the street, coating them in chemicals so that they'll burn longer before their deaths, setting the crowds screaming for more blood. Is that your holy duty as well?"

Tzuma leaned forward. There was a dangerous edge in his expression now. Jak knew that he shouldn't be pushing such a powerful man but he was in no mood to back down for a second time today.

"Our holy duty is for the Inquisition to know, and for no one else to question, Rogue Trader." Tzuma placed as much scorn as he could into those last two words. "But for your information, no, not all in my organisation approve of his methods."

"Yet, here we are, a month after his arrival. And still he whips the planet into a terrified frenzy of violence and paranoia. And I hear no disapprobation from the other Inquisitors on the planet."

"It's true, Yrobael," said a new voice. Jak spun around in his seat to see who had entered the private bubble of their confounder dome. "We are tragically silent on the matter."

The woman was among the most beautiful Jak had ever met. Bare-shouldered and blonde, in silk and chiffon, she looked like nothing more than an angel redeemer from some ancient portrait. But the smile on her face was one of wry humour, as if she was expecting the punchline to a joke that you were not privy to.

Jak found himself lumbering to his feet, feeling the familiar warmth in his face that he experienced around all beautiful women. She showed no such awkwardness, and held out a hand for him to shake or kiss, indicating with her eyes that the choice was his, but that she would be awarding points afterwards.

"You must be the young Lord Velasquez," she said. "Only a Rogue Trader would question the methods of the Inquisition so, and expect to leave the room afterwards on their own two feet." She smiled brightly as she said it, and the threat was delivered so warmly and with such good humour, Jak was momentarily at a loss how to reply.

He took the hand of Tzuma's companion gently, and felt a warmth beneath his fingertips. On instinct, he turned her hand over. She did not protest as he examined her palm and the glowing electoo that had been imprinted on it, a stylised, thrice bisected I.

"My Lady Inquisitor," he said, mustering a smile. "My Lord Captain," she replied, clearly enjoying his discomfit. Tzuma seemed to recover his earlier grace and ease.

"Allow me to introduce my colleague, Lord Velasquez. Amberley Vail."

"You are also here to discuss the sale of my servitors?" Jak asked.

"Oh no," she shook her head. "I'm simply being a busy body. Trade halls are such wonderful places for gossip and innuendo. Tzuma's business is entirely his own, as is Karamazov's for that matter. Every Inquisitor walks his or her own path in the service of the Empire. As such, we tend to stay out of each other's way, even when we disagree on each other's methods."

If Yrobael Tzuma had been offended by the interruption, he did not show it. He graced her with his wide, easy smile and quickly turned his attention back to Jak.

"So, Lord-Captain. I still await your answer."

"And I await yours, Inquisitor. What do you want servitors that have circumnavigated the Screaming Vortex for?"

"He wants to see how the warp storm tainted them." This was Sirenna, no else had that death rattle of a voice. She had appeared silently, as she so often did. When the Inquisitor saw her, his smile grew, if possible, even wider. "Sirenna E'Al'Xandros. What an immense pleasure it is to see you again."

"If you say so, Yrobael Tzuma," Sirenna's tone implied no time for pleasantries. "I had not realised that you were on Cypra Mundi now."

He waved a hand airily. "A backwaters military rock, but one which holds a small degree of interest to the Inquisition."

Jak almost laughed and he could see amusement on Vail's face as well. To call Cypra Mundi, the home of the Segmentum military and Battlefleet high command, a rock required the sort of arrogance that only an Inquisitor could muster. Or, he had to admit, a Rogue Trader. "I take it the two of you know each other."

"Inquisitor Tzuma was a firebrand Interrogator when last I met him, whilst I was on the staff of Inquisitor Merissina. He always had a keen interest in the effects of the Warp on the mind and soul."

"You know me too well, Navigator. It is true, she has seen to the heart of the matter. I wish to study the effects of prolonged exposure to such a warp phenomenon as the Screaming Vortex on the mind of a servitor. Your presence here on Cypra Mundi has provided me with just such an opportunity."

"An opportunity to study the Warp? It's effects on a servitor's brain?"

"I subscribe to the notion, somewhat radical amongst my compatriots, that we must understand the enemy in order to defeat it. Gazing into the abyss does us no harm, whatever the proverbs may teach."

"And what do you hope to learn from gazing into my servitors skulls?"

"In short, the protection of a quiet mind. A mind not turbulent with desire or fear. I want to discover if your servitors, lobotomised as they are, are protected against the subtle degradations of the consciousness caused by exposure to the storms of chaos?"

"I see." Jak might not understand the details of the concern, but he felt now that he knew enough to sense that the deal was on the level, and beyond that he felt little interest in the Inquisitor's experiments. He held out a hand. "Then you have a deal."

Tzuma took his hand. Jak could feel the flexing cordage of the power suit's musculature grinding down against his hand. He gritted his teeth and met Tzuma's toothy grin with his own. "A pleasure doing business with you, Lord Captain." The Inquisitor turned to Sirenna. "Mistress E'Al'Xandros. Now that is settled, I have another piece of business that this delightfully serendipitous meeting allows me to address. I have come into the possession of an immensely rare and curious artefact in recent times, one which I would dearly appreciate having appraised by an expert. From memory, your experience with these types of artefact was… unparalleled."

Jak saw Vail's fail take on a studious neutrality, indicating that she clearly knew was Tzuma was alluding to. Jak had also known, since before he had employed her, that Sirenna possessed a fascination with and expert knowledge of inferno-archaeology, the study of ancient chaos artefacts, and a hobby which bordered on heretical. Tzuma was obviously something of a radical if he wanted Sirenna's assistance. Small chance then that he got along with a puritan such as Fyodor Karamazov.

"I will help you, Yrobael Tzuma. Where are you lodgings?" Sirenna said.

"A sky mansion, hosted by the owner of this Emporium. A number of off-world Inquisitors have been given lodgings there. Including, I should add, the Lord-Inquisitor Karamazov."

Jak glanced at Sirenna. He couldn't help but grin. She had walked into that particular trap; the last place on the planet she would want to be setting foot on was wherever Fyodor Karamazov was staying. But, she could not back down now, her pride wouldn't let her, and if proximity to the burning judge concerned her, she did not show it on her face.

Amberley Vail suddenly clapped her hands together, as if realising something. With a bright smile that took in the whole group she said, "I just remembered. We are hosting a little dinner tonight. Just a small gathering of worthies, to express our thanks for our stay on the planet. We were even thinking to coax Karamazov down from his private studies to dine with us. We would be honoured if you could come, Lord-Captain Velasquez. And your companions, of course."

That wiped the grin off Jak's face. De Astrata's house. Karamazov's lodgings. But how could he say no without losing face? He looked into Vail's shining blue eyes.

"I would be delighted to, my Lady."

She made a small noise of pleasure. "Excellent! Then we will see you for dinner."

 _To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Dinner with the Inquisition**

 **Part 2**

The Jackdaw's cutter awaited them at a private transit dock, only a few minutes stroll from the Emporium. Jak walked ahead of his companions, whistling an old void song to himself. The morning had not been particularly satisfying, but he'd made an unlikely profit selling those servitors and the night would bring with its own opportunities to plot his revenge on De Astrata.

So, it was a lost in thought Lord Captain that wandered into the dockyards and it was up to his seneschal, Tahrir, to notice that something was amiss.

"Those aren't dock workers," he said, his stance changing in an instant. Gone was the hunchbacked scribe and in his place a taut young warrior, eyes shifting in all directions for incoming danger, the bulk on his back suddenly revealing itself as the powerpack for the two hellpistols that slid out of his sleeves, mounted on quick-release wrist holsters of his own design.

Jak looked about at the nearest dockworkers, lounging against some unloaded cargo, and he could see that Tahrir was right. There were two score or more individuals in drab grey. These weren't your usual loafers and loiterers either, these individuals were lurking with serious intent. None of them were doing any work, all of them watching Jak and his coterie.

Jak voxed ahead to the cutter pilot. "We've got some interest in our party here, gentleman. Be on the alert and don't let anyone aboard who isn't a Jackdaw."

"Do you need our assistance, Sir?" His pilot asked. There were two pilots and three tech priests on board the cutter, handy in a fight if desperate measures were called for, but they wouldn't even the odds significantly. Jak shared a glance with Tahrir, who shook his head. Both of them had moved in front of Maternin, with Sirenna taking up the rear. "We're fine here. We'll call you if we need support."

From all around them the workers came, carrying an assortment of heavy equipment, power wrenches and cargo spikes that in the wrong hands could easily function as deadly weapons. Every man and woman of them bore the same mark, tattooed onto their foreheads; the symbol of the Inquisition.

"Fanatics," Sirenna said, and her voice dripped with venom. She had no patience for those who could not think for themselves, and cultists generally fit that bill perfectly. Inquisitorial death cults had sprung up all over Cypra Mundi in the wake of Karamazov's arrival, fervent believers all, no doubt. Believers in what, Jak couldn't say, except possibly that it was about time someone started setting fire to a few of the city's undesirables, and if the Inquisitor didn't have time to do it all himself then the cults might as well join in and pick a few of their own targets.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters!" Cried out a burly youth with bad acne spots, whose bald skull glistened with the freshness of his tattoo underneath the light of the dockyard lumen. "It is a blessed day, for yea verily, blessed are those who walk in the light."

Jak glanced up at the flickering lumen above his head. "I don't know about that, but if you don't work here then clear off away from my ship right now, for yea, if ye have chipped the paintwork then verily your bosses shall hear about it."

The youth leered, the comfortable arrogance of the mob leader who knows he's got numbers on his side. The crowd surrounded the Jackdaws now. "We are simple peacelovers," he said, against all available evidence, "guided by the light of the Holy Inquisition and the purge of corruption on this wicked planet. We were led to these docks, where our faith told us that great sinners and heretics owned that cutter yonder."

"And did your faith lend you those uniforms too? Sod off before you get blood on them," Jak growled. Tahrir made a quiet warning sound. They were surrounded and outnumbered, cultists on all sides of them, hefting their weapons with silent menace.

The spotty youth did not seem bothered by Jak's threats. "We were told that there were great sinners and heretics," he repeated. "We intend to bring justice to them."

"Justice being a full hearing of the evidence, defence attorneys, the right of reply, all of that?"

The young cultist looked confused for a moment. "Er, no?" A stocky woman at his side waved her power wrench vaguely. "We were just told to thump you into a paste."

"Right enough, sounds like Inquisitorial justice to me," Jak said amiably, and then drew his pistol fast as a snake, shooting into the crowd. A long-barrelled antique auto-pistol, Jak had his own team of ecclesi-artificers who hand-crafted and blessed each individual bullet. It was currently loaded with amputator shells, designed to shatter and maim rather than kill. The youth and five cultists closest to him all went down, screaming out as shrapnel hit them.

"For the _Jackdaw_!" Jak cried, drawing his power cutlass, the Velasquez sword, and throwing himself into the mass of cultists still standing. He swung out, sword hissing through the air as the power field came to life, driving the crowd backwards. Jak was no great swordsman, but with this many enemies in front of him he didn't need to be. He simply swung and the hissing blade cut through anything that got in his way.

The Jackdaws were outnumbered near ten to one, but they were four companions who had fought together countless times, prevailing against far greater odds than a few grubby cultists.

Tahrir Venturianis raised his twin hellpistols and fired, scything through the cultists. Two at the rear were carrying lasguns of their own and raised them to the shoulders, taking aim at him. Maternin Shyendi, with her augmented eyesight and combat wetware designed to quickly identify and neutralise such threats, sent targeting information to her dedicated combat servo. In the blink of an eye it had flown up above the crowd and fired two rapid beams, hitting the wrists of the two shooters. It didn't have enough power to truly wound them, but their guns dropped from their hands as they howled in pain.

The crowd pressed in, but hellgun, power sword and Maternin's mechas kept them at bay. Some of the more enterprising cultists thought to move round to their rear, flanking the group on the side that was only protected by the tiny, vulnerable old woman. It was a mistake they would come to regret.

Sirenna E'Al'Xandros, like all her kind, carried the dread third eye, the portal through which she saw into the Immaterium itself. Lifting her hood from her forehead, she opened that eye, fixing the crowd in front of her with her baleful stare. Jak, Tahrir and Maternin heard the familiar screams behind them and knew not to look around, lest they risk catching a glimpse of madness itself.

The cultists recoiled, stunned and terrorised by their brief glimpse of the Warp itself. Some fell to their knees, retching, others stumbled and screamed as they backed away. But a few possessed willpower enough to press forward again.

"Cutter, this is Velasquez! We're going to need that support after all." Jak panted, his eyes on the cultists. They were wary now, in that first press already a dozen of them were down. But in their eyes glowed the desperate rage of true believers, and Jak could tell that they were not going to retreat.

This was what the purge had wrought; not just the destruction of bodies that followed in the Inquisitor's wake, but the destruction of minds, of communities. Fires in the streets every night, people huddled in their hab blocks for fear of the roving gangs who dared to say they acted in the name of the Inquisition. The rich and powerful using the chaos as an excuse to settle old scores. And now Jak would be forced to kill a pack of fools who claimed to serve the same Emperor that he did.

"Stop this at once!" A voice called out, and a symbol flashed into the sky above all of their heads, the same symbol that was plastered on the faces of each cultist. "Stop in the name of the Holy Inquisition!"

Jak spun to the sound of the voice, trying to turn his body sideways to keep the cultists in sight at the same time. It was Vail, the Inquisitor they had met inside the Emporium. A hulking thug carrying a las-rifle and a twitching young woman, with the vacant, rolling eyes of a psyker were at her side.

"What is happening here?" She demanded. The young spokesman for the group, bleeding from the wounds Jak's pistol had left in him, was held up by two of his compatriots. "You are an Inquisitor?" The spotty youth asked. The hulk with the rifle stepped forward and slammed the butt of it into the youth's stomach. "Inquisitor Vail is the one asking questions here."

The crowd looked nervous now, shuffling in confusion. The youth gasped frantically in pain, but Jak had to admire his persistence as he said through gritted teeth. "Are you truly an Inquisitor? Do you work for Lord Karamazov?"

The look that Vail shot him was pure venom. "I work for the Emperor, you suicidal fool. By whose authority do you wear that symbol and under whose instructions do you act?"

The youth took another rifle butt to the stomach, and this turned out to be the limit of his tolerance for pain. With a groan, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he sank in his compatriots' arms, unconscious.

"Lord Karamazov was sent by the Emperor to cleanse this planet," one of the cultists said nervously. "All we do is in the Emperor's name. If we act it is because we were guided to by His hand."

"And who told you specifically to be here, right now, being guided by his hand?"

The cultists pointed to the unconscious youth. "Only Euriphiron knew. He tells us who needs to be purged."

Vail made a disgusted noise and turned to Jak. "Well, Velasquez, these are your assassins. Do you want to pursue this further? I have interrogators in my retinue."

"I don't think there's any need for that," Jak glanced at Tahrir whose face confirmed that the spymaster shared his thinking on the matter. "De Astrata's docks, his employees' uniforms, and me the target. The message couldn't have been much clearer."

Vail frowned. Turning to the cultists she dismissed them with a wave. "Get out of here. Go back to your lives. Let the Inquisition conduct its business without interference from incompetents."

She shook her head, seeming genuinely saddened as she watched them disperse.

"Awful little people. Using the Inquisition to justify their descent into petty thuggery and extortion and grievance settling. So, you wish to make an accusation against Tobias De Astrata?"

Jak stared at the woman, trying to decide what to say. She was beautiful and charming, no doubt, but at the end of the day she was an Inquisitor. Oh, and staying in a mansion provided to her by none other than De Astrata if you please.

"No, I don't believe I will make an accusation thank you," he said, choosing his words carefully. "A little dust up to get the blood going, nothing that I'd lodge a complaint about."

She frowned, but gave a small shrug. "Well, that's your choice. I hope this hasn't put you off coming along tonight. De Astrata will be there of course but I can promise you my personal protection. No harm will come to you whilst you're dining with me."

 **=][=**

Shortly before they were scheduled to depart for the dinner party, Tahrir left a message with Jak that he would not be attending.

"I never accepted the Inquisitor's invitation, nor would I have if my opinion had been sought," the seneschal said, when Jak confronted him in his quarters. "I don't walk into the orks' den without knowing what they're planning. And I don't think you should, either. We don't know what the agenda is for these Inquisitors."

Jak shrugged, although with some difficulty. He was wearing a black dinner jacket, bought only that afternoon just for this dinner, and turning out to be far too tight around the shoulders. Still, he did want to make a good impression on that enchanting Inquisitor Vail. Paired with a gold-braided eye patch, and a fresh trim of his beard, he thought he'd quite mastered the dashing piratical look that he was aiming for. "My agenda is a good meal and a chance to poke around De Astrata's mansion. If the Inquisitors have an agenda beside that they can wait in queue."

"And the fact that De Astrata tried to kill you this morning? That doesn't cause you concern?"

"That was just a friendly warning!" Jak laughed. "If De Astrata really wanted to kill me he would've have planned something far more effective than some mismanaged cultists. He just wanted to show off the type of sway he's got now that the whole planet's gone crazy."

Tahrir gave him a disapproving look over his bi-focals and turned back to his data slates. "You can put your life at risk if you choose to, I have never been able to stop you before. I will stay here, working on this network that you have demanded I set up in such a hurry."

So, it was Jak, Maternin and Sirenna who left for the party, travelling by skimmer to the floating palace that was De Astrata's mansion. Jak sat in silence, looking through the viewport. In the darkness, the fires raging through Cypra Mundi stood out even more than they did during the day. The purge had gripped the planet, the presence of Lord Inquisitor Karamazov has inspired a pyro-maniacal fervour in people. But up here, the rich and powerful could isolate themselves from any consequences of that fervour.

De Astrata's mansion was enormous, a testament to anti-gravity technology. It carried its own dockyards, where the skimmer gracefully locked in and Jak, Maternin and Sirenna were led by servitor along winding open-air gang-planking.

Jak had to admit the mansion was impressive. Grand without being gaudy, demanding of respect without crying for attention. It was a fitting dwelling for a group of visiting Inquisitors. The Inquisition had no grand palace on Cypra Mundi, preferring to operate far away from the blunt power games of the Mechanicus, the Militarum and the Admiralty. Indeed, the Inquisition's presence on Cypra Mundi has been barely felt until the arrival of Karamazov.

After a very thorough security search of all three guests, the group was greeted in the grand foyer by Yrobael Tzuma, out of his power armour now and wearing a rich spunstring robe that shimmered under the hundreds of floating lumen which danced about the rafters. Jak had offered Maternin a wager that Tzuma would even dine in his armour, but Maternin had declined on the basis that such a wager would require a degree of psychological and sartorial knowledge about the subject that neither of them possessed, and as such would be little better than a game of chance. Jak was used to such conversations with his Chief Enginseer.

"Welcome," Tzuma beamed. "Lord-Captain Velasquez, Honoured Archmagos, Noble Navigator. Ave Deus Machinus and may the radiance of the God-Emperor shine his auspicious light on our second meeting of the day." He was positively ebullient, bouncing on his toes as he guided them through to the ballroom.

"Most of the guests have arrived, already. There was a little disagreeableness from our host about your attendance, but we will pay that no mind," Tzuma waved a hand airily. "De Astrata so dearly wishes to be a friend to the Inquisition and friends must make sacrifices from time to time, must they not? Everyone is enjoying pre-dinner drinks in the ballroom. We will make your announcements and then, Mistress E'Al'Xandros, I shall show you my little find."

 **=][=**

Maternin allowed herself to be swept along beside Jak, drawn into a spacious high ceiled room, with floors made from a hardwood. It must have been prohibitively expensive to ship in such building material, she couldn't imagine any trees still existed on Cypra Mundi. Three grand chandeliers threw a welcoming light across the room, but the true centrepiece of the room was the enormous throne that Lord-Inquisitor Karamazov rode upon during his parades. It stood, still and unoccupied (if one did not count the servitor still seated at one arm in slumberless vigil) against the far wall, and Maternin could see the stress fractures it had left on the floorboards as it had lumbered into the room.

Jak, Maternin and Sirenna were announced to the assembled guests by a thuggish looking footman, who seemed to barely fit his livery –Maternin immediately picked him as an Inquisitorial agent. About twenty guests in a range of uniforms, mechanicus robes and assorted finery filled the ballroom, chatting with a degree of wary formality common at these sorts of soirees, as everybody tried to silently calculate how drunk they could become amongst this crowd before it began to affect their careers.

"That's Rear- Admiral Kessiage," Jak had to stoop to murmur in Maternin's ear, pointing at a round-faced Admiral in full dress uniform. "Close confident of the Lord-High Admiral, if Tahrir's scuttlebutt is to be believed."

"And that's the Magos Explorator Delphan Gruss," Maternin pointed to a hulking tech priest with a drill-bit in place of one of his arms. "He's a legend, his writings on the possible existence of the Omnicopaedia are compelling."

"So at least you know they'll be serving for red robes," Jak chuckled. Before Maternin could reply, the crowd parted and a stout, familiar figure waddled through, causing Tzuma's grin to broaden.

"Captain Velasquez, I believe you already know Tobias De Astrata," he said. Jak kept his smiled fixed.

"Jak, my boy!" De Astrata beamed. Whatever anger he felt at having been accosted in his own emporium and then forced to accept Jak as a dinner guest, he appeared determined not to show it. "Twice in one day, how fortuitous. I thought you might have left the planet already. Although that might be quite hard given the state your ships are in, hey?" De Astrata turned to Tzuma with a theatrical whisper, "Our good Captain does tend to treat his ships rather poorly and then blame others for his mishaps."

Jak was about to scowl, but he remembered Tahrir's warning and smiled blandly at De Astrata instead. Tzuma gave both of them his widest smile, holding his arms out awkwardly. The man was clearly not used to being out of his power armour. Probably not used to hosting social events, either, for that matter. "Very good, well I'll leave you two fine gentleman to chat, and I will leave to catch up on old times with Mistress E'Al'Xandros."

As soon as he was gone De Astra's smile disappeared. "You better not be here to cause another scene, Velasquez. I'm warning you, if you are, you'll be the next one on the Inquisitorial cross." Jak sneered at his and made a rude gesture. "Emperor's blessing, I hope I don't have to get blood on my clothes getting back to my ship again. What an inconvenience that was. No, don't say anything, I'm not here to cause any trouble for you, you have my word on that." With that, he strolled away from the red-faced merchant prince.

Maternin stood there silently. De Astrata did not even seem to have noticed her and he quickly turned away, presenting another false smile to another group of guests. Inwardly Maternin sighed deeply. She hated parties at the best of times, but she had been too polite to decline the invitation as Tahrir had. Now, with menace in the air, Sirenna planning to discuss the workings of Chaos under the same roof as one of the most puritanical Inquisitors in the galaxy and Jak clearly planning to get drunk and cause a scene, she had even less to look forward to. The only thing worse that she could imagine was having to socialise.

 **=][=**

The attendants were serving iced recaf and joliq, or a focsle win; Jak snatched a glass of the wine and followed Tzuma and Sirenna, who were leaving together down the east wing of the mansion. Jak had not been invited to see the artefact that his Navigator had been asked to appraise, but this had never stopped him from satisfying his curiosity in the past. He took, as a matter of course, an invitation to one of his coterie to be an invitation extended to him as well.

Tzuma had guards posted at the entrance to his suite of rooms, crack troops from the look of their Tempestus Scion garb. The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow as Jak joined them at the door, but did not stop him from joining them.

"I would ask your utmost discretion in this matter, of course," Tzuma said once the door was closed. "I trust you understand that some of my colleagues misunderstand the nature of my research."

Sirenna fixed her small, dark eyes on the Inquisitor. "Show me what you want to show me, Yrobael."

He went to a wall safe, plugged in a quick code, pulled out a lockbox, took a key from a drawer, opened the lockbox, pulled out another box from inside that, twisted the combination lock –Jak watched his fingers moved swiftly over the tumblers-, and removed, finally, his precious artefact.

Jak felt somewhat disappointed. It was an ugly little piece of pottery, shaped like a bowl, but with hundreds of flat surfaces. In grimy browns and reds xenos and human interactions (some apparently very intimate) had been depicted around the base, their bodies contorted into positions that made the eyes water.

Sirenna took it all in with an appraising eye. "An Ithrilli daemon summoner?" She asked. Tzuma nodded.

"That was my belief, based on descriptions I have read of the things."

"No obvious psychic emanations, although no doubt your own initiates would have told you that. Some truly hideous iconography but that is par for the course in these things. May I?" She reached out to the bowl at Tzuma's assenting nod, and gave it a light heft. "No obvious deviations from known physical laws. You have had its interaction with light, time and space all examined?"

"Thoroughly."

"Hmm…" Sirenna gave the ball a little shake. Jak watched Tzuma's face, the side of his eye twitched a little as he followed the movements of the artefact. Sirenna had told him about so-called 'radicals' in the Inquisition, men or women who delved too long or dove to deeply into the mysteries of that fell-force known as Chaos. It touched them, whether they were able to admit it or not. Every Inquisitor who chose that path was in a race against the inevitable fall and the sanction of their colleagues that would follow.

Sirenna knew much of the Inquisition's inner workings but she was respectful of their secrets, and only shared with Jak what he absolutely needed to know. Jak suspected that the old crone took a certain amount of perverse pleasure in being the gatekeeper of hidden knowledge. He didn't mind. As far as he was concerned, the less he knew about the workings of the Inquisition the better.

Still, though, one had to wonder- what type of man dabbled so freely in such dark forces by choice. Jak had a better understanding than many Rogue Traders of the truths that lurked in the Immaterium, but not a day went past when he wished he didn't.

Finally, Sirenna stopped playing with the ball and passed it back to Tzuma, almost dismissively.

"It is a forgery," she announced.

"No!" Tzuma cried. "Are you certain?"

"Did you receive it from an agent on Gethsemane, Brolgus Valchar?"

Tzuma sighed. "How did you know?"

"He tried to sell me one very much the same about seventeen years ago. He was quite mad back then as well. I was nearly taken in, but you can see that the paintwork only uses human blood. The Ithrilli who worshipped the Primordial Annihilator used to mix human blood with their own to summon daemons, and their true works always reflect this. This is a convincing forgery but a forgery nonetheless. It would no doubt see the owner strung up on one of Karamazov's crucifixes, but it is no danger to the world."

"Are you certain? Is there any chance you might be mistaken?" There was something alien in the Inquisitors eye's to Jaks mind, a disappointment that he had been conned, but also a hunger, a longing for something. It flashed across his face so quickly, that Jak could not get a read on it, replaced by the Inquisitor's usual mannered smile. "I would appreciate some certainty on the matter."

Sirenna glared at him. "You want a Foreshadowing?"

"I would, yes."

Sirenna muttered to herself, rolling up he sleeves. Her bony arms and withered skin stood out against the voluminous sleeves of her Navigator's garb. She placed her gnarled hands on the clay ball. "Be ready."

Jak had seen this gift of Sirenna's before, though rarely. Via her third eye she could see murkily through the Immaterium and the streams of time that gathered around all things. With great effort, she could identify fragments of an object's past, sometimes even its future. It was an unreliable gift, and it took a great deal of her strength to do even the smallest Foreshadowing. Still, one did not easily refuse an Inquisitor and Sirenna had not even tried to.

Sirenna closed her eyes and drew back her hood. Jak turned away discretely, not wanting to be looking anywhere near his Navigator when her third eye opened. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the wall, but even then, he could tell when the Foretelling began.

The shadows seemed to lengthen around them. The room seemed to lurch, the sky mansion heaving like a ship at sea. But was that a true sensation, or all in Jak's mind? He had no time to find out. Sirenna gave a shrill wail, and fell backwards.

From the floor, she cried out. "Great harm will befall the bearer! Do not take to the stars, do not take it to the stars!" And then her head fell back, and her two primary eyes rolled back into her skull. Jak was down beside her in an instant, supporting her head as her body convulsed. He had seen this happen before.

"We need to get her to my doctor," Jak said. Tzuma's face was waxy and concerned. "Not through the front entrance. She will arouse suspicion."

The door guards helped carry Sirenna out the back exit to the skimmer, where she was laid down on a bed, her breathing shallow. Jak's pilot promised to take care of her. As Jak went to leave, Sirenna's hand shot out and caught his wrist.

"The warp twists around this house of lies. Three betrayals await tonight, three lies foretell death."

"Only three?" Jak gave her a reassuring smile. "Not much of a party then, is it?"

"You are in grave danger, Jakobian. If you stay her, you may die."

"Are you telling me that we need to leave?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, every ounce of energy she had left going to forming the words, before she fell into unconsciousness, "If you leave, everyone dies."


	3. Chapter 3

**Dinner with the Inquisition**

 **Part 3**

Inquisitor Tzuma accosted Jak when he re-entered the mansion, dragging Jak back to his quarters. With both hands on Jak's shoulders he looked at him with a wild intensity in his eyes.

"You must tell no one of this. What happened here tonight, if certain other parties were to become aware of it, there would be-

"Chaos?" Jak suggested. But Tzuma's earlier good humour was gone. His brow knotted.

"Take my words seriously, Lord-Captain Velasquez. If word got out, my Inquisitorial position would protect me, but I do not believe Lord-Inquisitor Karamazov would hesitate for a second in executing a Rogue Trader."

Jak gently removed Tzuma's hands from his shoulders. "I have no intention of spilling your secrets, Inquisitor." He smiled broadly to show his sincerity and Tzuma seemed to relax a little. The Inquisitor picked up his clay forgery and went to put it back in his wall safe. Tzuma caught the look in Jak's eye as he turned away from the safe.

"I know Mistress E'Al'Xandros claimed it was a forgery, but she also warned of great harm. I think it is safer to keep the piece under lock and key for the moment." He returned the key to its hiding place. "Did she give you any more information about what she saw in her vision when you were taking her back to your vessel?"

Jak stared at the Inquisitor for a moment before giving his answer. "No. No, she was quite unconscious. We likely won't be able to find out if she saw anything more in her Foreshadowing until tomorrow."

 **=][=**

Maternin hovered at the edge of the ballroom, seemingly unnoticed by the crowd and happy to play the observant wallflower rather than attempt to force her way into one of the many small knots of conversing guests. Even her fellow tech priests made her uncomfortable at times; Maternin came from a small, obscure sect of the Adeptus Mechanicus that held a number of controversial beliefs, and she never knew when she might run into a dogmatic zealot who would refuse to leave her heritage alone.

These concerns so occupied her mind that she didn't pick up the look of disquiet in Jak's eyes as he strolled with seeming nonchalance back into the ballroom. But she did notice the absence of their Navigator.

"Sirenna did not return with you?"

"She's gone back to the ship," Jak said, in a hushed voice. "This night is starting to look interesting, red robe. We've got betrayal and murder in the air." He quickly explained, out of earshot of the crowd, what had taken place in Tzuma's quarters.

"What should we do?" Maternin asked.

"Sirenna warned me not to leave, so for now we stay and try to get a sense of what's going on. Keep an eye out. Mingle."

"I was afraid you were going to use that word," Maternin sighed. But before she could protest at being required to socialise, their conversation was interrupted by the peal of a large gong. The heavyset butler cried out to the assembled guests that dinner was served.

"Shall we?" Jak smiled, holding an arm out for Maternin to take. She looked at him with concern. "With everything that is happening, I hope you aren't still thinking of opportunities to undermine De Astrata. He may well try to provoke you tonight. Please don't rise to his bait, Captain."

Jak nodded. "You're right, as always. You have my word, Chief, no revenge attempts on De Astrata tonight."

 **=][=**

The assembled guests were ushered to a great dining hall. To his disappointment, Jak was not seated next to the beautiful Inquisitor Vail, but sandwiched between Admiral Kessiage and a Rogue Trader who introduced himself as Orelius.

"Captain of the _Lucre Foedis_?" Jak asked. The Foedis was a fine ship, an elegant cruiser with fine warp-cutting lines and elegant gunnery. But Orelius himself was something of a mystery, a man of no great wealth nor renown. He smiled enigmatically, but batted away questions about his current activities or recent whereabouts.

Conversation ceased momentarily, and a hushed silence fell over the table, as a hunched flint-faced man entered the room and slowly made his way to the head of the table. The Inquisitorial cross he wore was simple in shape, made from thick wood, plated with gold. It hung around his neck from a chain, and he fastidiously held it out of the way as he took his seat, before letting go so that it hung down onto the table, prominently on display. The Lord Inquisitor Fyodor Karamazov did not speak a word as he took his seat.

To the right of Karamazov, Tzuma stood and addressed the table.

"Honoured guests, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the assistance that you have provided the Holy Ordos in our time on Cypra Mundi. Although I do not know you all, I know that each and every one of you has contributed in your own way to the glorious work of defending our Empire." He raised his glass. "To the God-Emperor on his throne, eternally vigilant, watching over us all."

The guests stood, cups raised, to toast the Emperor. Jak, like Orelius and Kessiage beside him, took half a second to remember to stand; sailors always sat when they toasted the Emperor, but no one here was going to stay seated when the Lord Inquisitor stood.

Dinner began with a soup of whisp-eel, Cyprian korkun bread and a terror-bird pasztet. The tech priests were served their own bubbling tubes of nutrients, whilst the Lord Inquisitor was provided with only buckwheat bread and water. This was presumably at his own request, Jak thought, to enhance his reputation for austerity. No doubt he would tuck into the good stuff in the privacy of his own chambers.

With so many sailors and merchants dining together, the conversation in Jak's immediate vicinity soon turned to favoured trade routes and opportunities for profit. De Astrata was departing in three days on the Viridian road, the great trading path that connected Segmentum Obscurus to Segmentum Ultima. Orelius briefly waxed lyrical about the opportunities available in the Damocles Gulf, where the Imperium bordered a nascent xenos empire. For his part, Jak told those listening that the greatest voyage in the galaxy was the one through the warp-storm ravaged Maw to the mysteries and wealth of the Koronus Expanse.

"Koronus?" Karamazov's voice, strong and clear, broke across the conversation. It was the first word he had spoken.

"Yes, Lord-Inquisitor," Jak said. "The great frontier!"

"A dark wasteland of depravity and evil," Karamazov replied. "The Inquisition should have finished Aquairre's work there."

"Well, I can't disagree with you on the dark wasteland part," Jak smiled around a mouthful of pasztet. "But there are so few Inquisitors willing to risk the journey to be finishing anyone's work. I've met those few who do, and I have to say, they are a brave and resourceful lot, nearly as bold as Rogue Traders." He winked at Amberley Vail, on Karamazov's left hand side, and immediately regretted it from the stony look on her face. But Karamazov did not seem to have registered his comment. The Lord Inquisitor had returned to stonily examining his dinner.

More courses were brought, more stories from the void were recounted. Jak told his fair share; of the Stryxian Conglomerate and their vast xebec fleet, of the Phoenix Lords and their world-destroying duels, of travelling to the great void whale known as Port Scuttle and looking through his ship's porthole into the mournful gaze of the beast, the _Jackdaw_ barely a speck compared to the ocean of its eye. Jak even hinted at his experiences on board the _Stallion of the Emperor_ , a tale that was his claim to fame in the Calixis Sector, although he was forbidden from telling the whole truth of what he had encountered there.

"You have seen a great deal of the effects of the Empyrean then?" Tzuma said, his eyes shining with that familiar eagerness he displayed whenever the Warp was mentioned.

"Oh, most certainly," Jak replied. He found that he took a certain degree of enjoyment in discussing these topics in front of a Lord Inquisitor, parading the freedom that Rogue Traders possessed to go into places that would see ordinary men spending a long time in the hands of Inquisitorial interrogators. "There's a different flavour to every warp storm, you have to know what you're getting in to."

A brief discussion followed of the dangers of specific static warp storms, with most of the sailors at the table joining in to share their collective experiences. In the Stygian Darkness, sailors dreamt of spiders and many woke up to find their pillows covered in drooled silk. In the God-Emperor's Scourge the bulkheads themselves whispered secrets and lies until the crew became overwhelmed with melancholy and the longing for home. In the Rifts of Damesh lust-filled terror gripped hearts and fraternisation grew out of control, only halted when a sailor or two became possessed and tore apart their lover in the throes of passion. This, at least, would dampen the ardour of the other sailors for a little while.

Gruss, the Explorator Magos, agreed with the last part, adding in his rumbling mechanical voice that he had seen even chaste and agamic tech priests overcome by carnal desire when caught in the Rifts.

Jak, perhaps a little drunk, was beginning to thoroughly enjoy himself and wondering if he could lead the group in a rousing chorus of "That Servitor Has The Attachment I Need," when De Astrata, clearly trying to curry favour, called out down the table to Karamazov.

"Tell us a story of your experiences with the foul Empyrean, my Lord!"

The Lord Inquisitor fixed the merchant prince with a withering glare. Finally, he said, "Stories are tools for the liar and deceiver. They are told by blackguards and enjoyed by fools."

That brought silence to the table, but Karamazov was not done. "The fool and the heretic are equal scourges to the righteous man, for the latter only survives with the assistance of the former."

Tzuma, whose smile had left his face as soon as Karamazov had opened his mouth, turned sharply at that. "Was that barb intended for me? If you have something to say, state it plainly. I would hear your concerns."

"Concerns? My concern is for the immortal soul. Nothing else matters. It is my suspicion you should be fearful of."

"Then state your suspicions!"

"You would know them if I had them!" The Lord Inquisitor bellowed. "You would know them immediately! To be under suspicion is to be proved guilty, for the suspicion of a righteous man is the suspicion of the Emperor himself."

With that, the old man stood up from the table. Attendants rushed over to help him from the room, but he shrugged them off irritably. The assembled guests watched in astounded silence as he trudged away. None had ever witnessed such an outburst from so powerful a man, a man who had the authority and influence to make whole worlds quake in fear.

Amberley Vail exchanged a meaningful glance with Tzuma, who shot her an outraged glare but said nothing. Finally, with a clap of her hands, she smiled brightly at the guests. "Shall we take a break? Some refreshments in the ballroom before dessert? Excellent!"

 **=][=**

Maternin was sat somewhere towards the end of the table and had spent the meal staring glumly into a bowl of ammonia-smelling paste. The tech priests on either side of her had released mandibular nozzles from their jawless mouths to drink it up with loud gurgling noises and nary a break in the binaric chatter that passed between them.

Her upbringing as a Genitari -forsaking the facial augmentation which was taken for granted in the more popular sects of the Adeptus Mechanicus- left Maternin unable to partake in this meal, but she was too shy to ask for a serve if what Jak and the others were eating. Instead, she sat in silence, contemplating Sirenna's grim warnings and Jak's seemingly blithe obliviousness to the danger that they were in.

Simply for something to do, Maternin sent a gentle probing pulse through the Noosphere using the sensorium tendrils that ran across her scalp. The technology embedded in her skull, flowing like silvery hair, was in fact thousands of strands of _primarus_ grade strategic sensory and communications systems, implanted and blessed by the Neuro-Magi of Forge World Daidala. Jak sometimes joked that Maternin wore an entire ship's worth of auger arrays on her head; he was not far off the truth.

Maternin always found a degree of comfort in retreating to the Noosphere, the holy grid of electromagnetic communication which controlled the galaxy and bound the Adeptus Mechanicus together. Through her sensorium, she experienced the interconnectivity between every piece of technology in the mansion as a symphony of colour and sound. She could close her eyes and experience the entire thing without ever needing to leave her seat.

As a distraction from the awful dinner, and some kind of tension occurring between the dignitaries and the Inquisitors at the head of the table, Maternin challenged herself to pick out the individual strands of communication between various devices within the house: the powerful bass thrum of the anti-gravity engines, the susurrus of the mansion's security systems, the lilting trill of the kitchen equipment. Within it all, a particular discordant tone stood out, a single signal that served no clear purpose amongst the efficient orchestra of the mansion.

Whilst the conversation around her grew more heated, Maternin retreated further into her sensorium's investigations, isolating the signal and listening carefully. It was the simplest of transmissions, repeated over and over again, to a transponder somewhere in the sky-mansion. There was no information in the electronic communication apart from the repeated affirmation that a transmitter was still working. But Maternin had been an Omnissiac confessor from a young age; she could sense the very spirits behind the communion. The first was savage and restless, eager to do its deadly work. The second was gentle and soothing. _Not yet,_ it whispered to the first, over and over again, _not yet._ Maternin could not help but wonder what would occur if that signal were to be silenced.

With a start, Maternin realised that the dinner had ended. She had not eaten a bite, but her appetite had completely left her. The endless rhythm of that transmission had filled her with dread. Whilst the assembled guests were ushered once more to the ballroom, she snuck away to trace its origin.

 **=][=**

With the guests having dispersed to the ballroom again, and Maternin nowhere to be seen, Jak found himself wandering over to inspect The Lord Inquisitor's throne. Up close, it was no less ludicrous than it had appeared from a distance. Combining the cumbersome manoeuvrability of an Astartes dreadnought with all the protection of a sedan chair, it was clearly designed for intimidation rather than battlefield use. The servitor still remained in its seat, slung from one of the arms, slumped forward and glassy-eyed, but hand closed firmly around the handle of the multi-melta. Jak found himself sighting along the barrel of the thing, trying to imagine its range and accuracy.

"It's been modified to increase the range." Jak spun around. The arch, honeyed voice was Vail of course. It was the first opportunity he'd had all night to see her up close, stunningly beautiful in an elegant grey gown, which showed off the blue of her eyes in a way that might have inspired poetry in someone possessing a better way with words than Jak Velasquez. Vail rapped on the throne playfully, causing the servitor to stir a little. "People think that he can't hit a target at a distance, but I have it on good authority that this thing could melt the paint off the other side of this ballroom."

Jak ran his hand along the throne, thoughtfully. His fingers brushed against Vails. She took his hand in hers.

"Calloused," she said, meeting his eyes. "I never trust a man with calloused hands, Lord-Captain Velasquez."

"And why is that Inquisitor Vail?" Jak smiled what he hoped was his most winning smile.

"It means he hasn't found someone else to do his dirty work for him," she smiled enigmatically again, taking her hand away.

"That was some performance from Inquisitor Karamazov," Jak said. "I don't think that he approved of this dinner."

"Oh no, not at all. The dinner was dear Yrobael's idea, of course. He had hoped to make a show of thanks to those who had assisted our work here on Cypra Mundi, show a different side of the Inquisition to the fires and the purging. I take responsibility for the guest list though. I was so hoping that it would be a group dignified enough that the two might put aside their squabbling in front of you all. No such luck, I'm afraid."

"So, just what is your work here on Cypra Mundi, Inquisitor Vail?"

Vail's face gave nothing away.

"Ah, shop talk. How disappointing, I had heard you were more interesting than that, my dear Captain. Do promise me you won't ask any more questions about my business here, and I promise not to ask you why your grand voyage into the Ghoul Stars seems to have been cut short so suddenly." Her dazzling eyes gave the merest hint of a flicker towards the portly De Astrata over to one side. Jak blinked at the dig, but rallied as best he could.

"I can't imagine many people could manage to say no to you."

Vail laughed. "I have no idea why they'd try." And with that she spun on her heels and walked away again. Jak was left with the distinct impression that he had lost some sort of contest, but he had no idea what.

 **=][=**

Maternin found little impediment to her exploration of the mansion. She avoided security doors as she followed the signal and stayed out of sight of the chefs, servants and various attendants. Through her sensorium she eavesdropped on the mansion's staff at a distance, but only one piece of gossip caused her to pause.

The heavyset butler, who clearly wasn't really a butler, was speaking to a small, black-clad man who wore a furtive expression.

"None of Vail's people are here, 'cept that Rogue Trader. What's the story there?" Asked the furtive man.

"You didn't hear? Vail asked that none of us Acolytes be around tonight, as a gesture of good faith."

There was a pause and then Maternin heard laughter from both men.

"Good faith! That's the best joke I've heard since we came to this port. As if we'd ever leave the boss alone with the burning judge and his mad followers!"

"Ah, you know what these young Inquisitor's are like. Think they can protect the galaxy with a smile and a kind word. It's only blood that'll protect the galaxy." The heavyset butler said.

"And hubris that'll doom it," the smaller man warned. "We need to keep a close eye on the boss tonight. If the burning judge tries something I want to be ready."

"We've been told not to hover too close. The boss can take care of himself."

"I'd be a lot more certain about that if we were quartered anywhere else on this planet."

"Inquisitor Tzuma is a proud man. He was never going to be intimidated into hiding from Karamazov." Maternin could hear the heavyset butler getting fired up now, "The burning judge decides to take the room down the hall, were we supposed to run and hide? No, we don't take a single step back, and we make sure that we're ready for anything his lackeys try to pull."

Maternin slipped away from the conversation before she was spotted, still hunting down the transponder. She found it in a small cellar, close to the base of the sky-mansion, where the hum of the anti-gravity engines was loudest. Three servitors had been stored down here, three very familiar looking servitors. The signal was coming from inside one of them. Maternin lifted its wrist, and saw the symbol of the _Jackdaw_ branded there.

"Undress," she commanded, and the servitor did so. She examined its nude body with professional care. It was a standard model, the shell of some former criminal or undesirable, lobotomised and animated by basic cogitation wetware spiked into the cerebrum. Mono-tasked for service, it carried no augmentation beyond the decorative, and the few scars visible on its body appeared to have been gained in the line of duty. Except for one, a recent abdominal scar, fresh and red.

Maternin had spent some time amongst void ship chirugeons and she recognised the work, quick and clumsy as it was. Something large had been removed from this servitor. An organ? No, she was making assumptions. Perhaps nothing had been removed. More likely something had been placed in the servitor. The source of the signal.

Signals back and forth indicated a conversation, and two questions were immediately apparent. Firstly, where was the other side of this conversation coming from? And secondly, what, exactly, would occur when the conversation ceased?

Maternin's mecha-dendrite gently worked across the servitor's torso. It gave no sign of discomfit at the touch. She focused her attention on the scar, drawing in residue through the mecha for chemical analysis. Chromatographers and spectrometers within the tendril provided her with an array of data, which she combed through quickly, cross-referencing with the millions of stored samples in her personal databanks.

"Oh dear," said Maternin Shyendi quietly.

 **=][=**

Jak was trapped in a dull conversation with a couple of minor dignitaries when the Rogue Trader Orelius placed a hand on his shoulder. "I just wanted to pay my regards. I knew your late father, the _Lucre Foedis_ participated in the Battle of Midas 46 under his command."

"It did?" Jak beamed. "Let us get you another drink. I would dearly like to hear that story."

"Another time perhaps," Orelius gave him a tight smile. "I am returning to my ship."

"Oh. So soon?"

"Aye," the rogue trader looked around. "I prefer to keep my feet on my own deck, and in truth I don't much like the company here tonight. Will you be staying much longer?"

"Well I was rather hoping to see what dessert was."

"I see. Well, good night, Captain Velasquez," the Rogue Trader shook his hand, somewhat stiffly, and took his leave. Only a few moments later Maternin found Jak. She was moving with apparent serenity, but he could see from her face that something was wrong.

"Had enough of the party?" He asked genially. "You're not going to tell me that you want to leave too, are you?"

"No, I very much think that we should stay."

"Really?" He looked shocked, and was about to make a joke about her social life, before his eyes narrowed. "Where have you been, Shyendi? What have you been up to?"

"I have been examining an errant signal that was bothering me. It came from the cellars, where the servitors that you sold Inquisitor Tzuma are being stored. I know that percentile based probabilities annoy you so I will only say that I am almost completely certain that there is an explosive device stitched into one servitor's midsection."

"What? Keep your voice down." Jak hissed and dragged Maternin away from the other guests. "You're telling me there's a bomb in the basement? Sewed into a servitor?"

"It appears so. I suspect one of the guests here is the target of an assassin who does not mind some collateral damage in their efforts. The most likely target is one of the three Inquisitors."

"As is the most likely suspect. They're the ones living here after all. It gives them opportunity and plausible deniability when they conveniently survive the bomb blast. But which one is our target and which is our assassin?"

"I couldn't say, Sir."

"Well when is this bomb set to go off? You don't look too concerned. Is there a countdown?"

"No countdown, no. A small signalling device is keeping the bomb from detonating. Judging from the signal's strength, the bomb will not detonate until the guest holding the device is approximately five kilometres away from the premises."

"Well, there we go! Are you able to locate the device? That'll tell us who our assassin is, no doubt."

"Indeed, that would seem the most obvious answer. There is only one complication with that assumption."

"What?"

Maternin reached over and slipped her hand into Jak's pocket. Before he could protest, she had removed a tiny palm-held signal transmitter. A single light blinked on its surface.

"You're the one holding the signalling device."


	4. Chapter 4

**Dinner with the Inquisition**

 **Part 4**

"You're the one holding the signalling device."

Jak stared at the transmitter for a moment, then snatched it from Maternin, stuffing it back in his pocket. "Don't wave that thing around," he hissed.

"What is happening, Captain?" Asked Maternin. Jak took her by the elbow and guided her away from the crowd. They hid behind the arm of the Throne of Judgement, Jak throwing suspicious glances over Maternin's shoulder to make sure that no one was looking their way.

"We're being set up is what's happening. Someone wants me to take the fall for their hit job. I leave the party, this place blows up, an anonymous source calls up the The Arbites or Naval security, who diligently track me down and in all innocence, I let them search me. Next thing you know I'm in the brig for the murder of this fine gathering of Cypra Mundian heavyweights, and our assassin hops away free."

Maternin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Captain, you have a suspicious mind." Jak shrugged. "It's what I'd do." He glared at the crowd. "If there were anyone here I wanted to kill that badly. Are you sure that there's a bomb planted in that servitor?"

"Something has been placed in the servitor. I have evidence of a detonator. I can detect a supressing signal. I can infer the existence of explosive material."

"That's good enough for me."

"So, what do we do?"

Jak seemed to take a moment to consider this, still staring at the crowd. "Only one person at this party hates me enough to set me up for mass murder. The question is whether he's willing to sacrifice his home to do so."

"De Astrata?"

"Why not? I thought his death-by-cult attack on us looked clumsy. He wanted me to be complacent, to think I'd bested him."

"There is a great deal of conjecture in that narrative."

"True. But security is too tight in this place for a bomb not to have been smuggled in by someone with authority. And no one else here has motive to want to thoroughly destroy my life."

"You can't confront him without proof. Not again."

"Aye, I won't make that mistake twice. I'm going to keep an eye on him though, and see how he acts when I suggest that I'm about to leave. Meanwhile," he nodded at Maternin, "you go downstairs and defuse that bomb."

"What?"

"Come now, red robe. Do you want to tinker with volatile and potential deadly machinery, or do you want to socialise?"

When he put it like that, Maternin really didn't see any choice.

 **=][=**

As she returned to the cellar, Maternin opened a secure vox channel to the _Jackdaw's_ Master of Whispers, and explained the situation to him.

"I warned the captain that it was a bad idea to accept this dinner invitation," Tahrir groaned.

"And you knew full well that he would ignore you, so no doubt you have prepared for the possibility that something would go poorly. What kind of intelligence network do you have on Cypra Mundi?"

"A very small one."

"I need it to do a very big job, very quickly," Maternin said.

"I have told the Captain a hundred times, a spy network is like a tree, it must be grown from a seed. It can't be developed overnight, and its branches can't be made to bear fruit by brute force."

"A fine metaphor and a philosophical point that I would be most willing to explore if the captain had not ordered me to defuse a bomb, but I have no idea what kind of material we are dealing with. I can detect the detonator, but I cannot analyse the explosive material without opening the servitor."

"And you can't open the servitor without possibly setting off the bomb," finished Tahrir. "I'm not going to be able to track the purchase and transportation of every skerrick of explosive material across Cypra Astu in the space of a night."

"Well, if this plan doesn't work, the captain is going to end up personally challenging De Astrata to a duel." Maternin heard Tahrir sigh over the vox.

"I will activate the network and see what we can do. But first, we need to be considering this situation more carefully. Yours and the captain's summations are lacking in sophistication."

"Oh?" Maternin replied, only half listening. She had the slack-jawed servitor still lying on the floor, and was running her mecha-dendrites over it, trying to gleam any information that she could without having to cut the sutures.

"Consider," continued Tahrir. "Your initial analysis of the servitor indicators that some type of explosive device is implanted within it, suggesting that in the time since the unit was sold to Inquisitor Tzuma someone went to considerable effort to hide a bomb. But a large explosive device would utterly disintegrate the servitor, nullifying any value of the action in attempting to frame the captain."

Maternin paused. Tahrir was right, it was obvious when put like that. "It makes no sense to hide this bomb in a servitor."

"Secondly, the captain believes that an 'anonymous tipoff' would be used by De Astrata to set the Inquisition onto him, but the status of Rogue Traders on Cypra Mundi is such that he would never agree to an unwarranted search, and the Inquisition would never attempt one without significant evidence to implicate the captain, let alone Nav Sec."

"Significant evidence. Such as a bomb planted in a servitor." Maternin was impressed. In mere seconds, the seneschal had seen the details that she and Jak had overlooked. "The explosion needs to leave behind some indicator that it originated from within the servitor and the servitor needs to retain enough material to be identifiable as having been transferred from the _Jackdaw._ So we are looking at a detonation that would not completely disintegrate the servitor and destroy the evidence."

"A viral dispenser, perhaps?" Suggested Tahrir. Maternin looked about the cellar. "No, nothing chemical." She was uncomfortable in the cloak and dagger would of stratagems and deceits, but this was an engineering problem now and that was her speciality. "There is no reliable ventilation in this cellar. It's a poor place for an airborne viral attack." She placed her hand on the wall listening to the thrumming sound that reverberated through. "If I wanted to kill a large number of people without doing too much damage to the mansion, I would sabotage the anti-gravity engines. Just a for a moment. Long enough to send everyone here slamming into the ceiling."

"An electromagnetic pulse, you think? That's proscribed technology, Archmagos. But if you're right, the necessary components are rare enough that I might be able to track their purchase. It will require sifting through an incredible amount of data very quickly though."

"I will give you access to the _Jackdaws_ central cogitator," Maternin said. "You can use it to do your analyses." She kept her hand on the wall, still feeling the vibration of the anti-gravity engines. "Start with purchases made through the Emporium De Astrata."

 **=][=**

"De Astrata!" Jak roared a cheerful greeting.

"Velasquez," De Astrata was with a group of dignitaries, and responded to Jak with markedly less enthusiasm, but Jak was putting on the full force of charm expected of all Rogue Traders, his smile broad and his tone congenial.

"They told me you owned a mansion! Why are we dining in this shabby little hovel?" Jak laughed, a great booming laugh that caught on with the others gathered. Admiral Kessiage, a round, red-faced man with white tufts of hair sprouting above his ears like mushrooms, laughed till tears rolled down his face.

"Damn good wheeze, Velasquez. Hovel! He's knocked you down a peg, eh?" De Astrata wore a fixed, indulgent grin as the Admiral elbowed him in the ribs. "I'd been meaning to say," Kessiage continued, ignoring or oblivious to De Astrata's silent rage, "I knew your great-uncle, Velasquez. Served in Battlefleet Scarus with him back when the _Icythius_ and the _Bellweather_ were squadroned together. Good times, what?"

"You don't say?" Jak smiled. "I'd love to hear that story some time, but I was thinking of going back to my ship about now. Have to make sure she's in good shape with the resupply, you know what these dockside merchants are like."

"Oh indeed!" Kessiage laughed. "Money-grubbing and screw-stealing, the lot of them. Present company excluded, of course," he said to De Astrata.

"How kind of you," the merchant prince replied sourly. "But I shall be doing some sailing of my own in a few days I'll have you know. A great voyage. I don't just operate dockside."

"Oh, I'm sure, I'm sure. But the long haul to Ultramar isn't exactly a great voyage, what? Not like patrolling the Eye of Terror, or traversing the Koronus Expanse!" Kessiage raised his glass high, clearly more than a little drunk.

"I said, I was thinking about leaving the party," Jak repeated, a little more forcefully.

"Oh don't leave yet, old boy!" Kessiage cried. "Why, I think they're just about to pull the card tables out."

"Do what you want, Velasquez," said De Astrata. "Stay, go, or fall off the edge of the world for all I'm concerned." He drained his drink, a sour expression on his face. "Bah. My wine cellar is wasted on you. I'm going to take the air."

Jak watched him stalk away. "Well. He doesn't look too worried."

"What?" Kessiage hiccupped and squinted at Jak. "Worried about what old boy? Never mind! Shall we see if anyone's up for a hand of Pharaohs?"

Jak ignored the drunken Admiral and followed De Astrata out to the courtyards.

 **=][=**

The hanging courtyards of the Sky-Mansion De Astrata had been constructed as a series of open, rib-vaulted arcades that criss-crossed through the open air, forming squares of space in which bright coloured flora from far off worlds grew in suspensors fields, floating masses of rippling colour and lush foliage. Jak walked to the edge of the path, leaning against a railing casually, just out of the light. Sipping from his glass and smoking a lho cigar, he kept a close watch on De Astrata, who appeared to be arguing with his servants.

The merchant had certainly seemed unfazed by Jak's threatened departure. Was it possible that he was not trying to set Jak up? Sirenna's words echoed in Jak's mind. _Three lies foretell death._ But which lies and whose deaths?

"You look deep in thought," a honeyed voice came from behind him. Vail had crept up quiet as a cat, and Jak who'd always thought that he had finely honed senses had nearly swallowed his cigar in surprise.

Vail carried her own glass, and gave Jak a wry, charming smile, as if she had just heard an amusing joke and wanted to share it. Jak tried to match it with his own charming smile, but secretly felt that he came up well short.

"I'm just enjoying the fresh air. I don't get many opportunities to be outside like this. I should spend more time planet-side."

Amberley's smile turned indulgent. "I've met a lot of captains who say that. But not a single one of them could bear to leave the void behind."

Jak shrugged and turned to his back to the balustrade, leaning against it so that he could better admire the beautiful Inquisitor as she leant over the railing and playfully tipped her glass so that it streamed away into the dark abyss of the night sky.

"I could never leave my ship," Jak admitted. "Or my crew. Or the freedom to go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted." He made a face. "Okay, when you put it like that, the outdoors is highly over-rated."

"So, are you enjoying our little soiree?" She asked.

"It's an interesting crowd. Tell me, Lady Vail, do you trust everybody here?"

She raised her eyebrows. "What a scandalous question to ask of an Inquisitor, Lord Velasquez. Whatever are you implying?"

He put up his hand in order to protest, but then he realised from her wide smile that she was mocking him. She winked. "I am an ordained Inquisitor of the Holy Ordos, here amongst my brethren. No, I don't trust a one of them. To an Inquisitor, _everyone_ is a suspect."

She looked like she was about to say more but they were interrupted by a butler, the heavyset one who was so clearly a member of one of the Inquisitors entourages in poor disguise.

"Lady Vail? You asked to be informed if Lords Tzuma and Karamazov were meeting. Well they've adjoined to the library."

Vail made an irritated sound. "I look forward to hearing what prompted that question, Lord Captain. When I return?"

He raised a glass. "I'm not going anywhere."

As soon as she had departed he voxed Maternin down in the cellar. "Where are we with the bomb?"

"We are making some progress on tracing component parts through Tahrir's network with the Emporium. I can't begin attempting to defuse the weapon without more information."

"Keep at it then. I don't think De Astrata is the one we're looking for after all."

"What will you do now?"

Jak stubbed out his cigar and set off towards the librarium. "I'm going to see what the three next most dangerous people at this party are getting up to."

 **=][=**

The librarium was poorly lit and filled with rows of dusty shelves holding books that looked like they had never once been opened. In an alcove, the three Inquisitors sat around a table, candles throwing stark shadows across their face. Tzuma looked passionate, frustrated, Karamazov wore a stern mask, his reactions unreadable. Vail sat between the two, her face turning from one to the other, lined with concern for the first time since Jak had met her. A decanter of amasec, untouched, sat on the table, and three empty glasses.

"My methods are extreme because our enemies our extreme," Tzuma and Karamazov were clearly half way through an argument. Jak lurked as close as he dared, watching through a gap on the shelves. He saw Karamazov's face twist in disgust.

"Extreme? Heretical, you mean."

"Show me the heresy Karamazov!" Tzuma all but shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "Show me your evidence so that I can fling it in your face." The older Inquisitor did not even seem to react. He simply leaned forward with a narrowed glare on his vulture's face. "Give me access to your quarters then, Yrobael Tzuma. If you're so confident in your innocence, give my people five minutes in your quarters."

"I thought that we had agreed not to question each other's methods, or interfere in each other's work whilst we were here on Cypra Mundi," Vail said pointedly. "We must help one another."

"The only protection an Inquisitor has from damnation are the eyes of his fellow Inquisitors. The greatest help I can give Yrobael Tzuma is the scourging of his radical leanings. The greatest work I can do is his redemption."

"Here we go!" Tzuma cried out. "More threats! This entire world quakes in fear that you have begun another reign of terror like you did on Abrazan, and what do you have to show for your so-called work?"

"Purity," Karamazov all but spat the word. "Purgation. And it is only the start. Corruption and heresy lurk in every corner and I will cleanse this planet root and branch if I have to."

"Or chase the true heretics into hiding," Vail said mildly. "Your actions lack discretion Lord-Inquisitor. The purge acts as a distraction that forces our enemies evermore into the shadows."

"Then I will burn this whole venal hive to the ground if I have to! Tear the ships from the sky and sow the land with stakes from which the corpses of the Emperor's enemies will hang! If that is what it takes, then that it what I will do, because it is the Emperor's will that I do so."

"And the Emperor will be pleased by the burning wreckage no doubt," Tzuma said, suddenly quiet. "Thank you for reaffirming why I could never stand the pompous grandstanding of the Amalathians. I believe we have ascertained the logical endpoint of your horrific hypocrisy." He stood up suddenly from the table, looking down at Karamazov, his dark, handsome face twisted into a sneer. "I have never been clearer in my purpose or righteousness. I thank you for that. The word radical is a badge of honour coming from an old fool such as yourself."

Tzuma stalked away, Vail bit her lip as she watched him go. Karamazov sat very still, so still Jak could not even tell if he was breathing. The old man was staring into the candle's flame.

"You told me you would not attack Tzuma tonight, whilst we dined together. You have no carta extremis, no evidence of heresy. You told me that you were not hunting him." Karamazov continued to stare into the candlelight.

"There is one who will not be saved," he said at last, and there was neither dismay or satisfaction in his tone. "Leave me, child. We are done here."

Vail looked like she was about to say something, but she thought better of it. Shooting the Lord-Inquisitor one last, strained look, she silently stood and left the librarium. The moment that she was gone, Karamazov's head shot up.

"Rogue Trader!" Jak found himself freezing, like a child caught somewhere he shouldn't be. "Come out in the light Rogue Trader. I have had enough of skulking for one night."

Jak straightened his shoulders and strode out from the shadows behind the shelves, trying to act as if there was nothing at all unusual about his hiding. He took a seat across from the Lord Inquisitor, and to show that he was not afraid, took out another cigar and lit it on a candle. As he drew the Lho smoke into his lungs, he poured himself a glass of amasec.

"You skulk in the shadows like a common criminal. It is a crime to spy on the inner workings of the Inquisition," said Karamazov.

"Was that what I stumbled across? I merely thought you were getting a head start on dessert. My mistake."

Karamazov snorted in disgust, and sat back in his seat.

"We dine while this planet burns with heresy," he said, almost to himself.

"It certainly burns," Jak said. Then silence. The flickering light from the candles caught the amasec in his glass, giving it a golden hue. Strange shadows danced across the angles of the Lord Inquisitor's face, at times seemingly to highlight his age and frailty, and other times making him appear utterly alien. Jak wanted to get up and leave, but he refused to give the Inquisitor the satisfaction.

Karamazov leaned forward. The old man seemed to want to talk. "You despise me for my methods."

Jak puffed thoughtfully on his cigar for a time before answering "You take my silence for condemnation."

"The Emperor has blessed me with an eye for the truth in men's face. You cannot hide your disapprobation. You have seen the light of His work and it disgusts you."

Jak finished his amasec in a single gulp. "Is it supposed to bring me to pleasure?" He waved the glass. "Does it bring you pleasure?" Karamazov scowled.

"I am an instrument of divine judgement. Nothing more. But you are a Rogue Trader, and all know what that means. You do not believe in orthodoxy, in purity of purpose. You feel that you have found your own path of worship. You truly believe that you are special, that you alone can succeed at navigating a course through this universe of decay, remaining in the Emperor's light whilst pursuing your own venal greed and curiosity. Like all your ilk you will be condemned by your vanity in the end."

He wasn't ranting, that was the unnerving thing. He stated his charges like they were simple facts and he was almost saddened to have to point them out. Jak poured himself another glass of amasec. By the Throne it was good. The only thing getting him through this conversation.

"Will you see me up on an Inquisitorial crucifix? It would seem that my rank would at least warrant something a little less gauche. A garrotte-wielding assassin in a dark and empty room, perhaps." Jak made a show of looking over his shoulder.

"You misunderstand me entirely if you think my methods run to lurking assassins Rogue Trader. Some choose to do their work in the darkness, wearing their lies and deception as better men would laurels. But I do the work of the Emperor in the open, so that all may see true judgement served. That is the purity of the purge, the pyres there for all to see, the flames lighting the dark night sky." He leaned forward again, black eyes fixed on Jak.

"And the smallfolk love it. Did you see them today, did you see how they cheered? Today the people of Cypra Mundi prayed with a fervency borne of true devotion. That is the part that galls your type the most I find. Not that the so-called innocent might suffer. But that the masses simply won't care. You think that the civilized people of this world should shun me, should hound me from their streets. Instead they look upon my work and they see the Emperor himself smile."

Jak found himself exceptionally glad for his cigar and his amasec, solid sensory experiences to hold onto as he found himself falling into the void of Karamazov's sincere devotion to his horrific beliefs. "You see terror, and you mistake it for worship," he said. "They do not pray because you have made them see the light, they pray because they're afraid they'll be the next to catch aflame."

"And so they should be afraid!" Karamazov's voice was suddenly so loud Jak almost dropped his glass. "Each one of us is only ever one step away from the darkness. One step! They would fear that as much as they feared my fires if only they had the sense to see. If only they knew what horrors lay just at the edge of their meagre perception. Even you, Rogue Trader, although you no doubt have already walked that step too far and are simply waiting to see how far your fall will take you."

Jak shifted in his seat, but still he refused to back down from the Inquisitor. He fished around in his pocket for his cigar case. "You have me there," he said casually, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact as he found another cigar. "I have long been warned that I never look before I leap. Cigar?"

Karamazov ignored the offer. "You express outrage over only a few thousand dead, a few thousand specks of ash, yet you ignore completely the firestorm of chaos that threatens to engulf us all. It will wash over you like a tide, Velasquez, burn you and everyone that you love for all eternity, all because you have made your soul no better than dry kindling. Yes," Karamazov continued, his voice dripping with venom now. "You know what I speak of, it is plain all over your face. I can read your eyes like a papyrus, you contemptuous excuse for a man. You pretend that I offend your noble sensibilities, but you have seen the firestorm. You know what awaits you. And you know that my work is righteous."

Jak decided that he'd had enough. He stood up from the table and drained his drink. "You are mistaken about what you see in me. If I've shown any disdain towards your displays of burning flesh, it is only because I don't like the smell. It offends my nose."

"Deceit drips off you like wax from the candle," Karamazov growled. "Leave my sight Rogue Trader."

Jak left the room, grateful to have escaped, but no closer to determining the identity of the assassin.

 **=][=**

Maternin fretted over the body of the servitor, still lying on the cold floor completely passively, its blank gaze giving no hint of the awareness of the destructive power it held within its belly. Back on the _Jackdaw_ , the immense processing power of the entire ship's cogitation core was being dedicated to sifting through billions of transactions (the information provided to Tahrir by his nascent network of informers) searching for hints of the incredibly rare and specific components that would be required to build an electro-magnetic pulse weapon.

"Are you sure we are looking for the right things?" Tahrir asked.

"We have to be," Maternin said. "It is the only thing that would work. Bring the anti-gravs off line, if only for a moment, and you would kill everybody still in the mansion. It is the only way to pull off an assassination from this room whilst also implicating the captain. I should just cut into the servitor and look at the thing."

"Not yet," warned Tahrir over the vox. "Give me just a little more time. The captain was only invited to the dinner this morning. This plan was put together in a hurry. If the bomb was made with components from the nearest trading houses, then I should be able to give you the information you need to open the servitor up safely."

"We were wrong to suspect De Astrata, weren't we?" Maternin said quietly.

"Of course you were. Sabotaging his own mansion, building a bomb in an afternoon, plotting an elaborate assassination and framing simply because Jak embarrassed him? It is far beyond Tobias De Astrata. We are looking for a much more dangerous and resourceful individual."

"And someone familiar with the weaponry of the Tau Empire, Maternin added."

"Oh?"

"They are the experts at this kind of technology, hence why it is prohibited by the Adeptus Mechanicus. We dislike not being the best at any particular form of destruction."

"Here!" She could hear Tahrir's excitement over the vox. "I've got it. Or at least partially. You were right about what we were looking for, Archmagos."

"You have the buyer's identity?"

"I am a spymaster, not a miracle worker. I have confirmation of the purchases through De Astrata's emporium, but the buyer appears to have covered their tracks well. Too well. The trail is dark at every level: official, black market, Noospheric." He sounded confused, concerned. "I believe my worse suspicions have been confirmed. We are looking for an-"

"Inquisitor," interrupted Maternin.

"Exactly!" But Maternin was no longer listening to Tahrir. She was frozen, staring at the las-pistol which was quite unmistakably pointed at her chest, held almost casually by a woman with an expression of wry frustration on her face.

"I think that you'd best turn off the vox, my dear," said Amberley Vail.


	5. Chapter 5

**Dinner with the Inquisition**

 **Part 5**

Magos Maternin Shyendi slowly raised her hands in the air. The Inquisitor, Amberley Vail, held a las-pistol casually in one hand, the slender barrel gleaming viciously in the low light of the cellar.

"Your vox is turned off? Very good. Would you step away from the servitor please?" The Inquisitor's voice was full of well-meaning politeness. Maternin did as she was asked. The pistol barrel followed her as she moved to the other side of the room. Vail's lips pursed into a moue of consternation.

"Well, this is a bother." Vail walked over to the servitor that Maternin had left lying on its back in the centre of a floor. She knelt down, pistol still trained on Maternin, and ran her hand across the stitches, running a critical eye over the servitor.

"There is a bomb in that servitor," Maternin warned her. "If it detonates, it will release an electro-magnetic pulse that will disrupt the sky-mansion's anti-gravity engines and likely kill everyone here."

"You worked all that out for yourself?" Vail asked, unable to keep the flicker of respect off her face. "Velasquez did find himself a clever one."

"You knew the bomb was there." Maternin said.

Vail flicked hair out of her face and gave Maternin a slightly pitying smile. "Of course I did, my dear. I'm the one who put it there."

"Why?"

"You know, I've never understood the people who would answer that question. Bragging to someone about your schemes and plots? It seems somewhat self-defeating."

"It is an impulsive expression of irrational pride, I agree," Maternin nodded. "However, one that in my experience most schemers and plotters fall victim to. Of course, if you were to behave rationally, then your most sensible course of action from here would be to march me somewhere convenient to dispose of my body and then kill me. And I would strongly recommend against killing me."

Vail gave a small shrug. "Well, I find most people tend to be against getting killed. I don't generally take their wishes into account if they're in the way of Inquisition business. Why would I change that for you?"

"This would be a matter of self-preservation. You are making decisions based on faulty premises, correction of which would lead you to alternative conclusions. For example, you are under the belief that you control the activation of this bomb with a transmitter that you have placed on Lord-Captain Velasquez's person."

Vail smiled. "You really are a remarkable woman, Magos Shyendi. I could do with a few more like you in my retinue. Yes, all of that is correct. The transmitter keeping the bomb from detonating was placed on Jak's person."

"This belief is erroneous," Maternin pressed on. "I blocked the signal from the captain's transmitter and replaced it with an identical one that I myself am broadcasting. The moment you shoot me, the signal will be cut off and the explosion will detonate. If you try to force me to leave the premises I will cut the signal off myself and we will both die along with everyone else here."

The smile disappeared off Amberley Vail's face. She clicked her tongue with irritation, the gun wavering in her hand for a moment before, with a snort of frustration she tossed her hair back and holstered her weapon, somewhat over-dramatically Maternin thought.

"Very well, then. You win," said Vail.

Maternin felt herself sag in relief. In her years, she'd had more guns pointed at her than she could count (and she had an excellent mind for counting) but she never got used to the experience. "Thank you."

"So," Vail said, irritation still strong in her tone, "you seem to have gamed this all out. What happens now?"

"I would still like to know why you placed the bomb in that servitor."

Vail sighed theatrically, standing back up again. "I thought a clever priest like you wouldn't need it all explained for them. There's someone upstairs I wanted dead, and I was going to have the assassination pinned on your captain."

"But who? Your method is so complicated and indiscriminate. All the guests would have been killed at the same time. Which one was your target?"

The Inquisitor gave Maternin an arch look. "Isn't it obvious? All of them."

 **=][=**

Still mulling over his confrontation with the Lord-Inquisitor, Jak returned to the main ballroom. A card game seemed to be the focus of attention at the moment, with a number of guests gathered around Admiral Kessiage, Yrobael Tzuma and De Astrata as they played Pharaohs. Hearts and Titans was more Jak's style of card game, one that every common sailor knew, but Pharaohs had caught on with the moneyed set in the northern parts of the galaxy, and he wasn't surprised to see it being played here.

"You there Shyendi?" Jak murmured into his micro-bead. He got no response from his _technis majoris_. She was likely completely focused on her efforts to defuse the bomb.

No else appeared to be confident enough to join the wealthy trio of merchant, Admiral and Inquisitor, so Jak shouldered his way through the crowd to claim a seat at the table.

"Deal me in at twenty, bank," he said, with a flashy grin for Admiral Kessiage. With a focused grunt, the Admiral slid a score of chips towards Jak without looking at him. Each one represented more wealth than most of the observers would ever see in their lifetimes. Jak placed his bets across the tarot images printed on the table, representing the cards he would wager on, whilst Tzuma and De Astrata did the same.

Tzuma's gestures gave him pause; the Inquisitor's fumbling of his chips and slight lurch forward in his seat gave every impression of drunkenness. Jak's one eye flicked up to look at De Astrata's and Kessiage's faces. Both seemed to be aware of Tzuma's inebriation and were focused on fleecing him of everything he had.

Jak paused before making his bet. On the one hand, there could be consequences for hustling a drunken Inquisitor. On the other hand, one of those consequences could be winning an obscene amount of money. Jak wagered heavily.

Kessiage began to deal cards from the x-ray and tamper proof dealing box; Jak sat back in his seat. He was mildly concerned about not having heard from Maternin, but he couldn't put his hand to his com bead in such a public setting, so he'd just have to enjoy the game. Solving the mystery of the assassin could wait, seeing as Jak was the one whose departure the assassination seemed to hinge on.

"My card!" Tzuma called out triumphantly at a winning draw, thumping his hand down on the table and causing the chips to bounce. "Steady!" Kessiage murmured, his outrage muted by the danger of confronting an inebriated Inquisitor. Tzuma pointed a finger at him, one eye twitching a little.

"Careful Admiral! You don't want anyone accusing you of heresy tonight. It could happen so easily if you annoyed the wrong man!" _  
_

There was a muted gasp from the watching crowd and Admiral Kessiage's face froze. Silence crept across the ballroom, only broken when Tzuma burst into a deep, rumbling laugh, his whole body shaking with mirth.

"Only joking, my friend! Old Inquisitorial joke. Oh, if only you could see your face right now."

The assembled guests sagged in relief, but only slightly; tension was still thick in the air. Admiral Kessiage's face was thunder, but he went back to dealing. Jak and De Astrata shared a glance. For the first moment all day their thoughts were aligned.

"This is what you get," Jak murmured, so softly that only De Astrata next to him could hear, "When you dine with the Inquisition." _  
_

 **=][=**

"You wanted to assassinate all the guests at this dinner?"

"Almost all, yes," Vail nodded. "You have to bear in mind I did put together the guest list. This dinner was a pretext to gather together some of Cypra Mundi's most notorious rogues." She held up a hand and started ticking names off on her fingers. "Magos Delphan Gruss and his quest for the _Omnicopaeia_ has caused all manner of conflicts that needed to be ended. Rear-Admiral Kessiage is grossly corrupt and intimately involved in the smuggling of certain artefacts of chaos into Cypra Mundi. De Astrata, as you well know, has been selling second-rate and tainted goods to Imperial captains for some time-"

"Do you have evidence for all of these crimes?" Maternin interrupted.

"Evidence? Indeed. Oodles of it in fact. I've been collecting it ever since I arrived on Cypra Mundi six months ago. My people and I have enough evidence to condemn ever man, woman and machine-priest up there."

"Then why not bring them to trial?"

"Because of Karamazov, of course. His presence has thrown the planet into chaos, paralysed the local Ordos, and provided cover for men like De Astrata, who seek to protect themselves by toadying to the Lord Inquisitor. His fire and brimstone blundering nearly ruined months of careful Inquisitorial work, and by the time he is finished all of my targets will have gone to ground or left the planet."

"So, you thought you'd eliminate him at the same time?"

A sneer crossed Vail's face. "I would be doing this planet, and the Imperium a small favour, although you never heard me say that."

"And Tzuma?"

"Ah, poor Yrobael. I do worry about him. That chat with Karamazov may have pushed him over the edge." Vail went quiet for a moment. She knelt back down beside the servitor and slipped a thin blade from somewhere within her dress. With practiced ease, she cut through the stiches in the servitor's abdomen.

"Tzuma is a radical you know?" She did not look at Maternin as she spoke. "Radical and not in the fun bound-daemon-for-a-best-friend way. He's going mad, and worse he's getting sloppy. Karamazov's purge will take years to recover from, but at least the damage can be repaired and the recovery is predictable. The path that Tzuma has chosen could do unimaginable damage in the blink of an eye. I personally would have regretted his death, but as an Inquisitor I have no question that it would have been for the good of us all. There," she said, lifting a small sphere from within the servitor's guts, blue lights still flashing across its surface. Vail gave a few short twists of the sphere, top and bottom halves moving back and forth, and the blue lights went dim. "The threat is over. Have I answered all your questions?"

"I have only one more. Why did you plan to pin your crimes on my captain?"

"Well, firstly, let us clear up one misunderstanding, my dear; It's not a crime if an Inquisitor does it. And secondly, the charming Jak Velasquez was simply going to be an unfortunate casualty of the perfect murder. When Tzuma invited him, I knew that his very public spat with De Astrata would give me the cover I needed. Originally, I had hoped to make the failure of the anti-gravity engines look like an accident, but this was so much better! The death of so many dignitaries was surely going to arouse suspicions, suspicions that could jeopardise the work of the Inquisition for months to come. And then along came a man with clear motive for murder, on whom I could pin the whole thing. And he blithely wandered into the web without needing more than a hint of encouragement."

Maternin considered this for some time. "It appears to be act of cold rationality, to the point of callousness, to destroy an innocent man's life for the sake of convenience."

Vail gazed at Maternin silently for some time, till the little magos became deeply uncomfortable looking into those piercing blue eyes.

"Yes, I am well aware of the perimeters of my principles," Vail said finally. "The Inquisition does quite a good job teaching you that any amount of wrongdoing can be justified in the name of the greater good. Still, look at this way: had my plan succeeded, one innocent man would have suffered, and I have no doubt that any concerted look into Lord-Captain Velasquez's activities would throw question marks over the word 'innocent'. Regardless, he is one man. But, now that you have succeeded in foiling my dastardly plan, how many more innocents will suffer because of the criminals that you have allowed to live? It is not so simple a thing as you think."

Maternin opened her mouth to protest, but she was unsure what to say. "Never mind," the Inquisitor continued, "I'm not dressed to be debating philosophy. You've won, my dear, but I don't want you thinking that any good has come of it. Revenge, justice, self-preservation, all could be reasonable motives for murder. But I really did just want to keep the Imperium a safer place. It's the prerogative of every Inquisitor to decide for themselves how to do that. Now shall we head upstairs and see if everyone is ready for dessert?"

 **=][=**

The tension was mounting at the card table. De Astrata was the bank and he put down his final card.

"The tower!" Admiral Kessiage crowed triumphantly. "That's my round! Thankyou gentleman." He scooped up the tokens on the table, drawing them to his growing pile.

"You're having a very lucky night, Admiral," said Tzuma. Kessiage beamed.

"That I am, sir. That I am."

Jak hadn't gotten as far as he had in his young life without having a finely-honed sense for danger and there was something in Tzuma's eye that had him easing his chair back from the table. The Inquisitor's manner was as smooth and urbane as ever, but his drunkenness made him sway slightly and there was something in his eye that flashed of madness.

"You know there is a school of thought that says luck is a non-existent concept," Tzuma said. "Within Inquisitorial scholarly circles I mean. Luck, chance, serendipity, all are simply the malign forces of the Empyrean at work. Do you understand what I mean?"

Kessiage threw a nervous smile towards Jak who shrugged and lit another cigar. De Astrata was moving his chair further away from the Admiral now, too. "I don't know that I do understand your meaning, Inquisitor Tzuma."

"I mean that I think you are cheating, sir. I think that you are a cheat and I think you are cheating tonight."

Admiral Kessiage stood up quickly, his face flushing red with outrage. De Astrata was up as well, backing away from the table. Jak puffed on his cigar. This certainly wasn't where he had expected the night to be going; perhaps Karamazov had gotten further under Tzuma's skin than he'd thought.

"What do you say to that, Admiral?"

"I say that my honour has been besmirched, Inquisitor." The attention of everyone in the ballroom was on the two men now, but those closest had moved themselves away from the card table. No one wanted to be too close to an Inquisitor throwing out accusations.

"What honour do you speak of?" Tzuma made a show of standing up slowly, his stature intimidating even out of his power armour. He sneered as he took in the elderly Admiral, who was shaking with anger. "You are a petty portside powerbroker, Kessiage, a venal, washed up, corrupt old goat who uses his connections to control half of the infernal smuggling on Cypra Astu."

"How dare you?" Kessiage bellowed. "To accuse me of smuggling?

"You deal in the coin of chaos itself!"

"And who do I deal with, eh? You're one of my best customers!"

"Heretics!" A voice boomed from the other side of the ballroom. The crowd spun around to see Karamazov there. The Lord Inquisitor had heard everything that he needed to. He lifted his arm, finger pointing at Tzuma and Kessiage. " _Burn them!_ "

A number of things happened so quickly that Jak was only able to put them all together in hindsight. The servitor atop the Throne of Judgement stirred to wakefulness with a sudden jerk. Its multi-melta swivelled towards the card table and fired, superheated energy leaving the muzzle with a soft _fwump._ Something hit Jak chest-on, throwing him out of his seat and to the floor just as the air around him seemed to boil. Tzuma and Kessiage were less fortunate, the blast hitting them directly and the gathered crowd would never forget the sight of two men caught in the melta beam, bodies disintegrated to blackened nothing in the blink of the eye.

His face feeling as if he'd just stood too close to a roaring fire, Jak blinked muzzily and looked up into the face of Amberley Vail. She lay bodily across him, having taken him to the ground with the full weight of her body.

"Thank you," he murmured, still shocked. She beamed down at him. "I thought you'd be glad to see me." To Jak's surprise, he felt her hand running down his chest. "Or is was that just the secret transmitter in your pocket?" She winked as she lifted herself up, having slipped the transmitter from him. Standing, she adjusted her dress and glanced with distaste at the blackened ash on the floor that had once been Inquisitor Tzuma and Admiral Kessiage. "Poor, Yrobael."

"All of you worms and parasites!" Karamazov bellowed. "Go to your homes now and repent your sins, before justice comes next for you!" The crowd did not need to be told twice. There was a rush for the doors. Vail gave an exasperated shake of her head and was off before Jak could say a word.

In the chaos, Maternin found Jak, still standing shell-shocked next to the remains of the Inquisitor and the Admiral.

"Shyendi, I think I've discovered who our assassin is," he said, somewhat dazedly. Maternin looked at him impassively.

"Yes, Sir, well done. But she's decided not to go ahead with her plot, and the bomb has been defused. We can leave." She looked about. "We _should_ leave."

Jak shook his head, and looked about himself, suddenly focused after his near-death experienced. He caught sight of De Astrata, scuttling about trying to reassure his panicked guests. Jak's good eye narrowed.

"Not yet. There's one thing I want to do before we go."

 **=][=**

 _Three days later…_

For once, a cloudless sky greeted Jak Velasquez, as his people made their preparations to return to the _Jackdaw._ He stood to the side of the open-air docking bay, nominally supervising the loading of cargo while Tahrir did the majority of the actual work. Jak took a deep, satisfied breath, knowing that he would soon be returned to the familiar recycled atmosphere of his ship.

In a break from yelling at dock-loaders, his seneschal joined him.

"We've had word from the Mandeville observatory, my Lord. De Astrata's ship left the system a few hours ago."

Jak took a deep, satisfied, breath. "Very good then. Any indication that they'd found the cargo?"

Tahrir smiled. "No, Lord. We were monitoring their vox and they appeared to be utterly unaware. It's a two-week journey through the Warp before their first stop along the Viridian road, so they'll be some way away from Cypra Mundi by the time everything comes to a head. We've passed on word through untraceable channels and I expect that we'll see a black ship departing orbit any moment now."

"Excellent!" Jak crowed, slapping his seneschal on the shoulder. "Well done, man. Your little network has done exemplary work here."Tahrir gave a modest inclination of his head.

"I should return to our preparations here, Sir," he said. "I look forward to the _Jackdaw_ being well away from Cypra Mundi also."

Jak left Tahrir to his work, and walked across to where his navigator, Sirenna E'Al'Xandros, was contemplating the skyline of Cypra Astu.

"You're looking well," he said congenially, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks.

Sirenna sniffed. "You're a liar, Velasquez. I look like fruit that's been left out in the sun."

"Aye, but that's looking well at your age." She gave a dry chuckle. "You escaped the noose again."

"Aye. And you were right by the way."

"I'm always right," was all she said in reply. Jak looked out thoughtfully across the busy metropolis of Cypra Astu. There were no parades today, no great plumes of smoke.

"Three betrayals, three lies. It turns out that I told the third lie to Shyendi." Sirenna gave him a sidelong glance.

"You broke a promise to Maternin? Be careful, captain. Your fates are intertwined, you need her by your side."

"So you've told me repeatedly."

"And I'm always right. The foreshadowing is a cruel gift, but it never fails."

"It's not the kind of thing you can take to a gambling hall though, is it? 'By the way Jak, the pretty blonde is trying to set you up for murder, best not head to dinner tonight, and by the way bet everything on red'. Now that's a useful prophecy."

"You're alive, aren't you? And you got what you wanted. Be happy and then be silent. You are disturbing my meditation." Jak chuckled, and ignored her cantankerous insubordination.

"What are you meditating on, old crone?"

"The nature of the Inquisition. Consider this," she held up one hand, counting with her fingers as she spoke. "Three Inquisitors. One murders from the shadows, striking at the enemies of the Empire however she sees fit. A second pursues the knowledge of daemons, willing to make any foul bargain to achieve his aims. The third would burn a whole world to the ground to save its soul. Which has followed the right path?"

"That's an easy answer. None of them. Too much bloody power in the Inquisition, if you ask me, and no one to answer to. I wouldn't trust any of them to know the right path."

"And the Warrant of Trade does not give you too much power?" She asked, raising one withered eyebrow. "Who do you answer to Lord-Captain? Who curbs your power? What guides you towards the right path?"

Jak was considering his reply when he was distracted by the two figures approaching from the far end of the docks. With a concerned scowl, he went to meet them.

"Good morning, Lord-Captain!" Amberley Vail called out. She wore a grey cloak that flapped in the breeze, her delicate features framed by its hood. She looked ravishing as usual, Jak thought, and he would be well advised to get as far away from her as possible. It would take a braver man than him to tangle with a woman so dangerous.

The Rogue Trader Orelius loomed over her shoulder, and graced Jak with a curt nod. "Captain Velasquez."

"Inquisitor Vail, Captain Orelius." Jak bowed with a flourish. "How kind of you to see us off." Vail laughed, a deep, rich peal.

"I wanted to make sure that you weren't mad at me," she said.

"Now why in the void would I be mad?" Jak asked, trying to give nothing away in his face. Vail studied him with her piercing eyes, and an awkward silence grew between them. Orelius was the first to break it.

"Is that a Peregrine-class?" He asked, looking towards the gun cutter. Jak nodded with a smile. "If you don't mind, I might go inspect it." Vail smiled at his discretion as he departed.

"So…" she said.

"What came of Karamazov murdering a fellow Inquisitor with no provocation?"

"Oh an Inquisitorial conclave was hastily convened and it was agreed that Tzuma was a heretic who'd publicly confessed his crimes and deserved everything he got. A carta extremis was issued _post mortem_ , so that's sadly the end of old Yrobael's legacy."

"You did not speak up in his defence?"

"Me? Throne, no." She gave him a sceptical look, but couldn't quite hold his gaze and ended up staring out across the clouds. " _I_ was going to do the business myself, quietly, and protect his reputation. But Karamazov does so like his pomp and ceremony."

"Perhaps it is better that some things happen out in the open." Jak said quietly. Vail spun on him, her eyes flashing with fury for a moment.

"He's a rabid dog, you know, completely without a leash. You don't try to get rid of their type by attacking head on."

"No, you throw a bone as far as you can and hope they chase after it." Jak said.

"Well, in any case, I won't be staying here much longer. The whole affair has left a sour taste in my mouth. I've asked for a transfer and Orelius will be taking me to investigate some alien affairs on the other side of the galaxy. Do you know much about the Damocles Gulf?"

"Nothing at all," Jak admitted.

"Well if you happen to pass through, you can always pop in and say hello."

Jak smiled, but said nothing.

"I might just do that. And what of Fyodor? I hear the Lord-Inquisitor has left the planet."

"Yes," she said, those piercing blue eyes on him again. "How interesting that you have that news, given that his ship hasn't even departed yet. It seems that someone tipped Karamazov off that the merchant De Astrata is smuggling a vase crafted by Ithrilli daemon worshippers, along with other artefacts stolen from Tzuma's collection, and the Lord-Inquisitor plans to personally chase him down to interrogate him."

"Indeed?"

"Like a dog after a bone."

"Just so."

Vail waited expectantly for a time, and when it was clear that Jak was going to say nothing more, she gave a disappointed sigh. "And here I thought you were a different breed, Velasquez. You're just as duplicitous as the rest of us."

"I'm just a humble trader who came to Cypra Mundi to resupply my ships."

Vail snorted. "Yes, and I'm a lounge singer." She gestured to Orelius over Jak's shoulder. "Very well, I'm off." She smiled. "Till next time, Lord-Captain."

"Till next time Inquisitor." Jak watched the two depart the dockyards until they were out of sight. With a small grin and a shake of his head, he walked back to the gun cutter, and called out to Maternin.

"Are we ready to go Chief?"

"Aye-aye, Sir. We depart on your order." Jak smiled wide and joined his seneschal, navigator and _technis majoris_ on the gang-plank.

"I've thought about what you said," he said to Sirenna as they watched the gang-plank rise up into the cutter. "The answer to all three of your questions. Easy. It's the crew." He nodded to Maternin Shyendi, who smiled. "Give the order, Chief. Let's go home."

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 _The End_

 _But Jak and Maternin's continuing adventures can be found in The Very Devil of the Stars…_


End file.
